


The Spirit of St. Louis

by purrslink



Series: Slow Motion Arc [2]
Category: A-Team (TV), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Coping, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrslink/pseuds/purrslink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a harrowing near-death experience brings odd feelings for Murdock to the surface, Face decides to figure out just how it is he feels about his friend. The best way to find out? Flying lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Face was still waiting for time to speed up four months later, as he threw the jack into the back of the van and narrowly missed getting his fingers clipped by BA shutting the door. He gave BA a tired glare that was returned with a grumpy snort. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I need my fingers for anything.”

“You won’t need them for anything if you keep at me like that, Face.”

“Boys.” Face sighed and at least BA shut up as Hannibal appeared out of the thicket of bushes, cigar already going as the last of shredded rubber was shed from Hannibal’s gloves. “Let’s try to have a pleasant drive back, all right?”

BA and Face gave each other a look. “He’s been off all day, Hannibal, gettin’ in the way, messin’ up the shot-”

Face narrowed his eyes because he was not going to take this. Not now, not after this mission, and not with BA’s full wrath staring him down. “I’ll have you know that it wouldn’t have been an issue if you had agreed to fly here in the first place instead of drive.”

“You know I don’t fly, Face!”

“BA…”

But Hannibal couldn’t stop Face now, not when he felt a headache coming on and an overwhelming urge to strangle the Sergeant, death sentence act or not. “Yeah, instead we drive for three days because, really, who wants to be eating dinner right now like a normal human being?”

BA growled and made to say something but Hannibal stepped between the two, shooting a drill sergeant worthy glare at them both and using that authoritative voice that they both knew so well from years long gone. “Face, BA, enough.”

Glares were exchanged, but they stood down, tension simmering back to where it had been all day. Hannibal sighed himself and ran a gloved hand through white hair. “We’ve had a long day and we have a long drive back. Whatever you have issue with can wait until we’ve stopped for the night in Portland. Understood?”

Two murmured assents came, prompting another Colonel-esque glare. “What was that?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was still tension, Face still caught the glare BA sent his way. But building a cannon from a hallowed out pine log and from various hunting cabin implements had worn them out for the day. It happened more often on these missions, Face found, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who could feel the strain of having a missing member, someone to step in and smooth things over with a laugh. Right now, however, the argument – whatever it was – wasn’t worth it, so they dropped it, BA grunting and disappearing to the front of the van as Face brushed off dust from his sports coat. Hannibal gave the con man a clap on the back, but it was half-hearted, just like morale. Face didn’t have the heart to make a jibe about his gun powder dusted clothing.

Hannibal noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Everything all right, Face?”

Face gave the Colonel a look, then ran a hand through his hair. He’d be washing gun powder and sap out for days. “Just a long mission, Hannibal.”

The Colonel nodded. “Long drive back, kid.”

He groaned, because he knew that very well. It had been a long drive up. “It would still be faster if we-”

But he stopped himself because they didn’t have the option to fly. Their pilot was five hundred miles South, probably finishing dinner right now after three hours of therapy. If he remembered right, it was chicken fried steak night. Definitely not MRE in the back of a van night. Or sit by Face and help make the drive more bearable night.

Hannibal understood, however, just like the older man seemed to understand that the desire to fly wasn’t necessarily limited to the convenience to the trip. “I know, kid, I know. We could have used him today.”

Which was also true. His side still hurt from that surprise goon that would have normally been covered by a right hook from his right hand man. BA was cranky and had no one to take it out on but him, and even Hannibal was worn out from not having a that extra jazz to count on. “Tell my ribs about it.”

“Any word on when he’s coming back?” Face could only shake his head and Hannibal gave a soft sight. “Right.”

The conversation, thankfully, ended there with BA growling from the front seat. But the entire ride back had Face sitting, alone, in the back, staring at the seat that normally belonged to a quick wit and smooth as sin smile. He would be lying if he denied that there wasn’t something there when it came to the pilot. It was a slippery, tricky feeling that was hard to pin down, however. Sometimes it seemed to simply be a deep sense of camaraderie that had him clapping Murdock and joining Hannibal in a smoke. That kind of sense of brotherhood that was ingrained after a century of gunfire, explosions, sweat, blood, and tears. There were other times, however, where it was undeniable that there was something more. Something that had niggled at the back of his mind since he breathed for them both in that chopper wreckage four months ago. A feeling that was definitely not brotherly or really even friend-like and had him pacing his apartment on the nights after a visit to the V.A.

Normally, he was an outgoing man. If he wanted something he went for it, and by God he usually got it. But this wasn’t anything normal by any definition of the term, at least not to him. He wasn’t sure what to call it. And he had been trained to tread cautiously in unknown territory, bullets or not, and so cautious he was.

Yet what do you do when the territory you need to scout out is your best friend?

Face wasn’t sure, and for that reason he was glad Murdock wasn’t with them on missions as of late. He couldn’t trust himself not to be distracted or protective, neither of which would help him figure out these emotions. And the last thing Murdock wanted was someone worrying over him. The man had told him so explicitly.

But while Murdock seemed to have no issues from that fateful crash beyond the fact he couldn’t walk straight, Face found himself up on more nights than not, reliving the events and that same crippling panic of exactly what the pilot meant to him. He needed to find out, and he needed to find out soon. Something hard to do when Murdock wasn’t with them anymore. The pilot would be back, he was sure of it, wouldn’t think any way else, but still.

Face had never been a patient man, and that included when it came to issues with people who were his friends.

Part of him asked if he should even pursue this at all, and he wasn’t sure what to answer. Chances are, these feelings were nothing but lingering protectiveness from the whole near-drowning thing. Yet he could still remember kissing the pilot, under water, true, but still. The feel of stubble, chapped lips, strength that he didn’t normally associate with a first kiss, all haunting him just as much as that look in the man’s eyes that last night at the small community hospital. Jewel of the Nile, Murdock had called him: was it true?

He had to know for sure.

Which was how he decided that knowing meant researching which, in this case, meant staying close to the man. More V.A. visits, longer weekend passes if he could get them, all of that he could do. But what was one way to be guaranteed to spend time with the pilot?

The answer hit him when a pot hole almost sent him across the van.

Flying.

Perfect.

Murdock hadn’t flown since the crash. They had been waiting until the pilot felt ready, but four months was a long time. Face was sure the man had to be yanking at the bit, ready to get back into the pilot’s seat, just like he was clawing at the door to spend time with Murdock outside of the structured life in the hospital. He had the ability to get a chopper or a plane to appease the Southerner, and Murdock had the ability to help him (if not indirectly) figure out why the hell his stomach jumped every time he spent time with the pilot.

And what was one way to stay even closer to the pilot? Flying lessons. Something Murdock would enjoy and something that require close quarters and honest conversation. Granted, it was a bit of work, but it would let him watch Murdock’s reactions to him up close. Let him be close to the pilot for long enough to decide how exactly he felt about the man.  
Face leaned back and cracked a smile at his own cleverness. Hannibal noticed and raised an eyebrow at the first smile on the trip since they arrived, but Face just shook his head.

Soon.

Soon he would know, Murdock would be back, and maybe, just maybe, things would be right again.


	2. Chapter 2

It was that sentiment that had him outside the V.A. a few days later, a shower and a hot meal bolstering his courage. Face had replaced his suit long since the accident and his second best shoes, but it was not as easy to replace Murdock's balance and coordination. The V.A. had done an admirable enough job - particularly after Westwood's best neurologist suddenly found himself hired to tend for a one Captain H.M. Murdock, via private donor. But as he entered the therapy room he could tell that the day hadn't been as successful as Murdock had wanted. He couldn’t decide what clued him in first, if it was the way Murdock was squeezing the life out of the poor traffic cone orange therapy ball, the way the pilot’s shoulders were a tight line, or the-

“I hear ya, I hear ya, sweetheart, but unfortunately my fingers weren’t born with ears or they’d be pulling out the trampoline and asking how high.”

Yeah, that was probably a pretty good sign by itself.

The nurse was less amused than Face was, however. “There’s no need to get cross with me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Captain,” corrected Murdock in a rare display of insistence when it came to his proper title.

“I’m only trying to help, Mr. Murdock.” It was time for Face to step in before the nurse crossed her arms any further into herself. Future generations would thank him for helping keep those boobs in that good of condition, he was sure.

“Excuse me,” Face coughed, catching both sets of eyes. “Is this a bad time?” Two different answers hit his ears at once.

“Yes.”

“No.”

There was a battle of wills between brown eyes and green before Murdock relented with a particularly hard squeeze on his ball. The nurse double checked his grip before turning back to Face. “Mr. Murdock-”

“Captain!”

“Sorry, Captain Murdock is just finishing up. If you could wait outside, he should be done soon.” That last part was said with a bit of ice and Face sighed. Time to turn on the heat that was the Faceman charm.

“Oh, well you see-” He had to check the name on the nametag. “Jenny. Can I call you Jenny?” Of course he could, especially when he said it like that. She was already reaching up to check her hair. “You see, I’m a good friend of Captain Murdock’s here. Actually went through a similar accident that left my right hand pinned for a good few hours. Took years of therapy but I can finally move it.”

A good demonstration was definitely moving that pesky piece of hair out of the nurse’s eyes. If that wasn’t coordination, he didn’t know what was. He could see Murdock rolling his eyes, but fortunately Jenny had a different opinion of the story. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr…”

“Robbinson. Huey Robbinson.” He offered the ‘injured’ hand and ignored the contained snorting coming from the physiotherapy chair.

“Jenny Englestein.” She really did have beautiful green eyes. But that was all they really were, eyes. Not mirrors, not windows, not even reflective of anything near as familiar as the brown eyes off to one side.

“Anyway, Jenny, maybe I could sit with him while he finishes? Give some encouragement, distract a bit during the harder ones, you know, one vet to another.” And ok, perhaps the wink was a bit over the top.

But she bought it enough to give a little smile at his look and though she glanced back at Murdock and gave a hummed, “Well…” She eventually gave in. Everyone did. He was Faceman, after all. “I suppose that would be all right. You remember the exercises, don’t you, Mr. Murdock?”

“Mr. Murdock does not, but I’m sure Captain Murdock remembers them just fine.” Face winced a bit. A cranky pilot certainly wasn’t fun to deal with, and the nurse seemed like a nice enough girl. “And if not, I’m sure my poor, neurologically challenged friend here could help me out should Captain Murdock forget.”

Ok, he got the point. Too far on his part, but in fairness Murdock wasn’t exactly being kind either. He told the man so through a look as Jenny picked up her files. “I’ll see you on Wednesday then, Mr. Murdock.”

The pilot sighed. “Captain.”  
But Jenny was busy giving Face the once over and he was busy keeping her eyes on him until they were alone. He turned back to the pilot, raising an eyebrow. “Sweetheart?”

“Like you haven't called anyone that,” defended Murdock. Despite the tone, however, the pilot was sitting forward a bit more and Face couldn't help but grin at himself for saving the nurse and Murdock from each other in one whirlwind go.

"I'm just saying, if I'd known you called everyone that I wouldn't have been so flattered as to bring you these." He pulled the coup de grace from his pocket and tried not to make it obvious that he may actually have been a bit jealous.

Murdock's eyes brightened and the ball was forgotten. "You keep bringing me those and I'll call you whatever you want, Huey!"

Long fingers reached for the bag of sour candy but Face held them back, taking a seat in the chair next door. "Exercises first, ok?" Getting the pilot to agree to go flying would be easier if he wasn’t distracted by candy and exercises.

"You're all the same, the whole lot of ya!" Murdock sighed, taking up the ball and half-heartedly starting in once again. "Standing between a man and his vices." But there wasn't as much bite in those words and Face wasn't quite sure whether it was his presence or the candy.

Face waited a few squeezes to be sure the pilot was actually doing the motions before stirring up a new conversation that would, hopefully, go the way he wanted. "So how are they?"

It was always a source of fascination to him that Murdock always seemed to know what his vagueness meant. "Well, I can squeeze the orange ball five more times than two weeks ago, and I haven't run into a wall since last week."

"I hear that gets addictive."

"They say recovery time for it takes years and that I'll always have an attraction to drywall."

"I guess I'd better start setting up a tent in your room then."

He had Murdock smiling now and he let himself settle down a bit as well as the irritable nature seemed to fade. The pilot always looked better with a smile than with that furrowed, aggravated brow. Even more so when Face was the one putting the smile there.

Murdock caught him watching and gave Face a bit more of that smile before glancing back at his hands. "So how are the guys?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." There wasn't much that could be said straight forward here, not like this. "The ol' Fox has a new gig playing some Mars monster in Pasadena and King probably has more kids than necklaces on him." 

"You know, he'd hate hearing you say old."

"I could have used ancient."

"He's only Cretaceous at the latest, maybe late Jurassic."

Face laughed at that and for a few moments he could pretend that they really were sitting here cracking jokes they'd never repeat in Hannibal's face, lest any of them actually have to pay up on that three-way bet. Murdock was grinning as well, and it seemed as good of a time as any to add, "Well, the dinosaur and friends have been asking about you, wondering when you're going to come to the next reunion."

It changed the mood faster than Face wanted, and not particularly in the direction he had hoped as Murdock sighed. "Workin' on it, muchacho. Still tryin' to get all the boys and girls back from their all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii."

"Boys and girls?"

"Ring finger is always a girl," Murdock explained automatically, wiggling the one on his left hand in demonstration. "Don't know why else it would be so excited for jewelry otherwise."

This time Face snorted, but the fingers had stopped squeezing the ball so hard and the pilot was hunching back into the high-back chair once more. "Well, you're doing a lot better..."

"Yeah, suppose so."

"The nurses say you've got a lot of motion back."

"Reckon I do."

"And the tingles are gone now, right?"

"Yup."

"You're not dropping things anymore."

"Nope."

Face gritted his teeth and counted to ten. "So what do you say? How about a little get together next week, just to go through the motions."

He had been hoping his offer would be met with some sort of enthusiasm, particularly as Murdock had been talking about getting back into the field since the second week in. But despite the talk, nothing happened, and Face was starting to worry that maybe there was something more keeping the pilot at bay instead of among the clouds. Something that was stirring up a new batch of guilt in himself that never seemed to quite go away, no matter how many times Murdock told Face that his hands were not Face’s responsibility, or Face’s fault, even if it was so much easier when those things were.

When his offer was met with a shrug Face decided to pull the ace from the hole. "Or we could go to the airfield. I've got a friend with a lovely little R22 just looking for someone to take her for a spin."

The orange ball stopped mid-squeeze and Murdock gave him a confused stare. "Huh?" Not exactly the reception Face had wanted, but he could work with it.

"Just for a half hour or so," Face nodded. "We could go next week."

Murdock sighed. "Fa-Huey..." The con man winced, but if anyone was listening they made no indication of it. "I appreciate it and all. You're a good friend. But I can't even keep this thing going for long." They both looked at the ball in Murdock's hand, the squeezes having become progressively weaker. 

Face wasn't ready to give up though. "Come on, look how much better you are now then you were two months ago! And it's not like you have to squeeze the collective like that. We'll go on a non-physio day, when you’re fresh, and-"

“Huey...”

“I’ll scam us a way in and we’ll take it out for a spin. You can show me what the cockpit looks like when we’re not hurtling at three-hundred miles-”

“Only about one-fifty-”

“Whatever. Just, you know, give me a tour of how you actually fly those things.” If that didn’t show enthusiasm, he didn’t know what did. Just for good measure, however, he added a bit of a forward lean and a congenial smile. “What do you say?”

“Face.” The con man stopped as an older look spread across Murdock’s face. A tired, crinkled eye look that melted his suddenly lame attempts to build up the excitement level of the situation. “I can’t, muchacho.”

Which was an odd thing to say, because this was Murdock, the man who could fly anything. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Murdock sighed. “Just leave it alone, ‘k?” Brown eyes were riveted to the therapy ball, and who knew Face could be jealous of a stupid plush ball? “Thing ain’t even a proper ball, you know. It doesn’t bounce.”

He was losing this, whatever this was. This entire plan had been so well thought out, derailed by the fact that he hadn’t counted on Murdock being, well, Murdock. Unexpected, though not necessarily the good kind of surprise this time. Why the man wasn’t jumping at the chance to fly was beyond Face: it could be anything. But if Murdock couldn’t get excited about flying, then he probably didn’t stand a chance of gaining any better insight into the pilot’s feelings towards him than he had right now.

So despite all his plans to approach the subject with the smoothness of silk, it tumbled out with all the roughness of tacky brocade. “I want to learn.”

Murdock just glanced at him, confused. “Well, all right, but I don’t think you need ‘em, muchacho.” It was Face's turn to blink. “I mean, your fingers get enough practice with all those dates of yours, curling around-”

“Right, right, I get it.” He didn’t really want to think about that right now. “I meant flying.”

“Oh.” Murdock’s nose wrinkled a little as he switched pages. There was a long pause that had Face shifting uncomfortably, not liking the amount of time it was taking for the normally quick-witted pilot to respond. His anxieties proved to be true when Murdock finally spoke. “Look, if this is about me not comin’ for the past few months, I swear it ain’t a permanent thing.”

That was the last thing Face wanted Murdock to think, that he was replacing the pilot. The Southerner was irreplaceable for more than just his technically revoked aviator’s license on their team, after all. So far this hang out with Murdock idea was going really well… “No, no, that it isn’t, buddy. Promise.”

Murdock shifted in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly and watching Face carefully, and yeah, ok, he could understand that. The con man did have a tendency to gloss over the harder facts with people. “You finally watch The Right Stuff then?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I still think that should have been two movies.”

“Come on, ol' chap,” and this time a bit more fire came back into Murdock's voice. “Astronauts and test pilots? The only thing it was missing was race cars and it would have been every eleven-year-old boy’s top three dream jobs rolled into one.”

“I didn’t want to be a test pilot when I was eleven.”

“Most of us still thought girls had cooties at that age.”

Point taken. “No, I didn’t watch it.” Off Murdock’s look he held up his hands. “Come on, you know I tried last week.”

Which he did. The couch at his current apartment could attest to that with a drool stain. Murdock had to nod his assent at that because, after all, forty-five minutes in was a new record. “So why the sudden interest in avionics and aviation then?”

It was a fair enough question, Face supposed, though he was a bit hurt that Murdock had to ask with his eyebrow raised like that. Like he wasn’t at all interested in what his good friend was interested in. Even if it was for questionable reasons. “I just figured that now’s a good time to learn.”

Murdock gave him a look and wiggled his fingers. “Couldn’t think of a better time to learn the intricate art of flying.”

There was that. “It could help, buddy.” 

Flying was therapy, right? And the doctors did say that motor control exercises were important.

“I’m a liability. It ain’t safe for me to fly right now, much less teach you.” The flat tone made Face cringe. “Besides.” The pilot gave him another look, reaching out to pat his knee sympathetically. “You don’t exactly have the temperament for piloting.”

Face frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Because he was pretty good at a lot of things. How could piloting be different from the trend?

“There are certain qualities and characteristics that just aren't part of the Faceman persona,” Murdock chuckled, removing his hand to fiddle with the therapy ball again.

“Like what, patience? I can be patient!” It was more of Face’s ego talking than anything else, but there had been that one job in Redlands where he’d been very patient about not moving out. Granted, there had been an attractive blonde at the time, but still. “Come on, give me a chance, Murdock.”

“It isn’t just patience. You need something else-”

“Whatever it is, I’ve got it, I can do it.” Face wasn’t ready to give up on this, and Murdock couldn’t hold out forever.

“Face…”

“Come on, how hard could it be?” When there wasn't a nod or an agreement forthcoming Face reached over to put a hand over one of Murdock's, telling himself there wasn't anything more to it than making a point. Nothing at all. "Just another excuse to get out of here, after all..."

Face knew he'd won when Murdock sighed. "All right, all right. I suppose ol' Howling Mad always did like a challenge anyway."

"I pick up things quickly," he contended, pulling his hand away as Murdock stood on less-shaky feet.

Murdock just gave him a small, pitying smile at that. "Oh Faceman, you keep tellin' yourself that."

He didn't ask what that meant, as the nurse came back in and visiting hours were declared over. But Face couldn't help but feel that there had been something else meant than the physical skills to which he had been referring to. Either way, he felt accomplished as he left the V.A. that afternoon. Personal time with the pilot, bonding over the man's favorite activity and life passion, letting him be the expert and leader for once, and maybe, just maybe, figuring out what would happen when time sped up to the point of reveal on exactly what this feeling toward his friend was.

What could go wrong?


	3. Chapter 3

Face squinted in the sun and shaded his eyes, looking across the expanse of buildings wavering in the early evening heat. “Um, Murdock?”

Next to him the pilot hummed, long fingers moving in sweeps that Face couldn’t help but remember being surer in their movements a few months ago. “Yeah, Faceman?”

“You know I appreciate your ingenuity...”

“Right.”

“And your ability to interpret things in out-of-the-box ways is unparalleled…”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I just have to ask…” Face shifted to look down at the kneeling pilot. “What are we doing on the roof again?”

Face could feel the heat rising from the asphalt shingles, sweat beading on his neck and crawling into the collar of his shirt. Sirens wailed, cars passed, and though the ground around the luxury condos was relatively quiet, the greater of Los Angeles was not. And it was all audible from the roof of said building. The roof where they’d been for the past ten minutes, sweating and watching the sun set as Murdock folded pieces of paper that he had insisted Face bring along.

At least one of them was amused. “I told you, Faceman, we’re flying.”

A look around assured Face that they were, indeed, stationary – minus Murdock’s leg, swinging in the light breeze as the pilot pressed into the safety railing. The position wasn’t really doing anything to help Face’s nerves over this whole venture, but if Murdock wanted to dance with death, he would do so. He was a big boy after all.

Even if that big boy tended to have the logic of a six-year-old. “I think there are certain actions that have to happening in order to qualify something as flying. And, ah, standing on a roof at the edge of the downtown district isn’t on that list.”

Murdock just smiled a little, which in of itself was enough to have him stall in adding any more to his treatise on why they were standing, not flying. “I know that, Faceman, don’t be silly. We’re not flying yet. Just give me a minute…”

All Face could do was fidget and glance at his watch, having to peel back his shirt just to see the face. “It’s almost six, Murdock. We’re going to lose the plane if we don’t leave now…”

“Never said we needed a plane to fly.” That had Face looking over, squinting a bit at the blue baseball cap hovering by his shoulder.

“What did you mean then when you said ‘prepare to fly some of the finest in the fleet’?” Because while he was happy to be spending time with Murdock, this wasn’t exactly what he’d planned. 

Neither was the paper airplane shoved into his line of vision. “Faceman, meet The Spirit of L.A.”

It took Face a moment for his eyes to focus on the sprawling looped letters. “Huh?”

Paper was replaced with two brown eyes, watching his confusion with unabashed amusement. “Finest flyer in the fleet, Face.” Sure enough, when he looked down, there were others sitting in the pilot’s lap, penciled letters shining in the dying sun.

“It’s just paper,” was all he could say. His mind was reeling just a bit, which wasn’t something he was proud of. But who in their right mind would choose paper airplanes in the triple digit heat over an air conditioned Piper? Then again, Face supposed, Murdock wasn’t in his right mind on the best of days.

Murdock’s fingers fussed with one of the wings, crinkling more than smoothing. “Commercial jets are just metal, but they still fly. The same principles apply no matter the materials.”

Face bent down to retrieve a fluttering plane – White Hawk – and frowned a bit. “Yeah, but, you can’t really control these to go to Hawaii, or the Caribbean, or, you know, control them at all.”

He let the plane go, watching it tumble in the breeze and all but sink like a stone. Murdock snorted at his toss and Face busied himself with wiping sweaty hair from his face. Perhaps he was a bit of a bad shot when it came to paper planes, but at least his shooting was good where it counted. “Seriously, though, let me call Paul and see if he can hold the-”

“Settle down, Faceman,” said Murdock, shaking his head. The pilot didn’t look at him as he finished tweaking the plane in his hands. “It’s not about getting some place or flying the right kind of thing that matters.”

Then, with a smooth throw, The Spirit of L.A. was soaring through the thermals and into the air in front of them. Face could only watch as the paper billowed in the breeze, the small plane slowly succumbing to gravity as it made its maiden (and final) voyage over the houses further down the hill.

The pilot’s voice intercut the scene as the plane’s crinkled wing caused it to veer right. “No matter what you’re flying, as long as the pressure above the wing is less than below, the plane has lift. And planes can’t fly without it, which is why wings are on them in the first place.”

That was all very nice, but while the paper airplanes certainly had a nostalgic factor going for them, Face wasn’t sure how this would help get the pilot back behind the controls. “And here I thought they had wings just to attract all the other lady planes.”

Murdock laughed and Face had to smile a bit himself at the sound. Unorthodox flying, yes, but hanging out with the pilot it was. One out of two wasn’t bad. “I suppose there is something more attractive about planes with large wings. More lift, you know.”

He couldn’t help it. “More thrust too?” 

They were both smiling now and when Murdock offered him a plane – Ol’ Bessie - he took it this time. “Maybe. Depends on the size of the propeller.”

Face could have sworn that gleam in those eyes was more mischief than amusement. He found himself answering the look with his own smooth smile, voice dropping just a bit as he leaned in. “So is that why everyone wants to fly B19s?”

“Suppose so.” Murdock pulled back a bit however, letting the conversation go with another flick of his wrist. The plane sailed less smoothly this time, gliding downward at a steeper angle than last time.

He pretended not to notice the pilot frown at his fingers as he let his own aircraft go, just like he pretended not to be torn over whether or not the conversation had been the nature that he thought it was. It was just joking, just a series of tossed around salacious talk that came with being what they were. In no way did it mean anything more because they’d done this before.

“Try a smoother motion, Faceman,” Murdock suggested as the con man’s plane did a steep dive bomb over the edge, again. “You have no yoke to help you out here so you’ve go to keep the nose pointed forward the entire time. Let it dip and you might as well write Hindenberg on it.”

The pilot handed him another plane – The White Baron - and he tried again. This time it flew straight, heading stoically to a similar fate as the others. “Huh.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” said Murdock as Face leaned his elbows onto the safety railing. “How, with the right folds and creases, this-” A piece of unfolded paper was brandished. “Can fly.”

He glanced down at the pilot and gave a short shrug. “It’s not exactly flying, Murdock. It’s more like gliding.”

Murdock frowned a bit. “You’ve still got most of your four basic principles going, Faceman. Lift, weight, drag – we’re just missing the motor for thrust.”

“Yeah, but, isn’t half the fun being able to control it?” Face ventured, watching as the pilot folded and creased once more.

“Yes, but that’s not all there is.”

“But that’s what they teach you when they say flying lessons at flight school, right?”

“No, but you know you can’t learn everything behind a desk, Face.” And this time Murdock gave him a pointed look.

He answered with a raised eyebrow. “Like throwing paper airplanes?”

When he got no answer he rubbed the bridge of his nose and, with a resigned sigh, sat down next to Murdock. If he was going to kiss those reservations good bye, well then, he might as well get comfortable. Murdock didn’t look up as he sat, fingers fumbling a bit with the creases until Face held a hand out. “Want me?”

“Nah, I’ve got it, muchacho.” It wasn’t hard to pick up on the defensive tone in there. “Just give me a minute.”

Admonished, Face pulled his hand back and resigned himself to playing with the wing tips of the last of the fleet – Enola Bay – instead. They lapsed into silence for a few moments as Murdock folded and as Face tried to figure out what to say. He’d always sort of admired Murdock’s ability to always find something to say, and he wondered if perhaps the pilot wasn’t saying anything on purpose, waiting for him to make the first move. The problem was that he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. There was a limit to what you could ask your friends, after all, and if they think about you at night in some way that isn’t necessarily in the ’I hope Murdock gets a good eight hours for his health’ kind of way. He still couldn’t understand why Murdock would rather sit here, on hot cement, and throw paper airplanes into the downtown part of L.A.

With that last thought in mind, he asked, once more, just to be sure, “So is this…?”

“Yup,” said Murdock in that tone that indicated the conversation was over. A pencil was squeaking on paper and with a flourish Little Guy joined the last of the fleet.

“Flying. Right.” Turning the plane back over, Face smoothed out a corner and looked over at Murdock. Murdock was giving him furtive glances, fingers trying to stay still but fiddling with the nose, the wings, the folds of the delicate plane in his hands. 

Face was going to lose money on that reservation, and a contact as well. His ass was also hot and his entire outfit was drenched in sweat. It would have to be washed before he could wear it again for that meeting on Thursday. But if this was flying for Murdock, then he supposed he could go with it. They were still spending time together, after all, and if he leaned over a bit more he could bump shoulders with the pilot.

He did just that, offering a peace-treaty smile. When brown eyes finally met his he held up the Enola Bay. “Fly on three?”

It took a second or two, but that lopsided grin he knew so well slowly appeared. “Waiting on you, Faceman.”

For a fraction of a second he could have sworn there was a flash of sadness in those brown eyes at that. But he shook his head and let the thought go to concentrate on keeping that smile where it was. “Three…two…one!”

Murdock’s fingers were a bit slow in releasing, and Face had managed to crumple the wing just right to have Little Guyveering left when the breeze hit. But neither of them said anything, sitting instead in companionable silence as paper-thin aircraft proved they could fly. And in a way, perhaps it was like flying, Face decided.

The pilot caught the look and handed him a piece of paper, almost shyly. “Want to improve the design?”

Face took the paper and for a moment they both held on, unsure – maybe unwilling, Face wasn’t sure – to let go. Until Murdock ducked his head a bit and the paper was in the con man’s hands. Ball in his court, he cleared his throat and started to fold. “Only if you tell me a bit more about how weight fits into flying. I thought weight was bad.”

Brown eyes lit up just a bit and it was well passed time for dinner by the time they used the last of the paper. Face had to admit, that while they never really left the ground and though Murdock almost lost his hat after a particularly excited throw, at least the pilot was laughing more by the time the day was done. And as the last of planes drifted further into the expanse of L.A. air, illuminated by the haze of light that came with city life, Face had to admit thatmaybe gliding could be almost as exciting as flying.

Or maybe that was just because of the company that he was in…


	4. Chapter 4

Face wasn’t nearly as surprised when, a few days later, Murdock insisted on going to the park instead of anywhere near an air field. He even attempted to anticipate the pilot’s mood by bringing along a gift, wrapped in the paper bag it came in because his wrapping skills were atrocious and, despite his asking, the store did not carry wrapping services until the end of November. While he did get the name of both check out ladies – to come back for personal wrapping service when it was available – all he could do when he finally did pick up the pilot was offer a lumpy bag.

He was fairly surprised, however, when his gift was met with one of his own, wrapped even more poorly in newspaper. “Here, Faceman!”

Blinking, watching Murdock’s leg bounce as the pilot waited quite patiently for him to unwrap it, Face could only splutter, “I wasn’t expecting anything-”

“I know.” There was a smug look to Murdock’s eyes that made Face wonder what trap he was walking in to. At least the man was in higher moods than last week. “It’s for today’s lesson.”

Fair enough, since his was related as well. So with two swift tugs, the news print fell off and he found himself staring at the red expanse of cheap fabric in his hands. “It’s a…”

“Kite,” finished Murdock. “Ain’t she beautiful?”

Truthfully, it was as far from beautiful as Face could think of. Beautiful was that little Cessna waiting somewhere in the world for Murdock to show him how to fly. Beautiful was a job well done with money in the bank for all twelve accounts he controlled (three per team member). Beautiful was not cheap paper stretched over wooden dowels that he was surprised the pilot was even allowed to have in the V.A.

Off Face’s look Murdock chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder with a bit too much force. “You’ll love it. Promise.”

“And this is our next flying lesson, I take it?” Face asked, already resigning himself to a hot day at the park. At least he hadn’t worn long sleeves this time.

“Sure is.” Murdock smiled, long fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before they trailed to the paper bag. “So can I open this?”

“Go ahead,” Face assented, setting the kite in the back seat and hoping that perhaps his present would trump the one he had been given.

Paper crinkled loudly and tore a bit as Murdock dived into the bag. The pilot’s smile widened as the box was pulled out. “Faceman, how did you know? It was on my Christmas list and everything!”

He had to smile, because the pilot’s smiles were contagious. Particularly when not underwater and possibly being the last due to imminent death. “Thought you’d like that. Why don’t we take that for a spin when we get to Griffith?”

To his surprise, Murdock laughed, a hand shooting out to pat him on the shoulder in a comforting, you’re-so-silly kind of way. “Oh Face, Face, Face. Gettin’ ahead of yourself.” One brown eye winked at him. “Gotta admire that in a student. You’re just after extra credit, aren’t ya?”

Off his hurt look, however, Murdock’s face became serious, or as serious as one could be when talking about flying lessons that, so far, didn’t involve any flying. “We’ll get there, promise Faceman. Just be patient, ok?”

It was true that he was a little frustrated. The controls on the plane would have been a good coordination exercise for the pilot’s hands, and while not flying in the same sense of having headsets on and watching people scurry down below like ants, it was much closer to the picture Face had in his mind of what these lessons were supposed to be like. While paper airplanes had been informative on basic flight dynamics and a kite brought up memories he never really actually had as a kid, they didn’t really serve a purpose to him that couldn’t be fulfilled by actually flying something with an engine and rotors. After all, this whole thing was about getting closer to the pilot, not necessarily flying.

But one look at Murdock’s face, fingers so carefully restraining from ripping the box open, all for his sake, and he had to sigh. “All right, all right. You know best, professor.”

Murdock grinned at that, a small little thing that made him feel a little bit better about jumping the supposed gun. Even if that joy was sobered a bit when the pilot opened the passenger door instead of jumping over it. The coordination just wasn’t there yet; last time the pilot had fallen on his ass and almost his head. Apparently the horror on Face’s face had been bad enough for the pilot to stop trying that trick since. “That’s Doctor Murdock to you.”

“What happened to Captain?”

“That is so last week.”

Face rolled his eyes and opened the door. “Right. And that would be a doctorate in, what, kite management?”

“Crazy, Faceman. Undeniably, certifiably, crazy.”

“Of course, how could I not know?”

Granted, the entire conversation led to Doctor H.M. Murdock, M.D., being born, but it was easily dealt with by playing a long. Even if that meant he was prescribed with narcissistic personality, which he definitely was not. It’s perfectly normal to be concerned about one’s appearance, and it was only one opinion after all. A second would most definitely be needed before Face would even consider seeking professional help that was not Doctor H.M. Murdock, M.D.’s cousin, Doctor M.H. Murdock, licensed psychiatrist.

Fortunately, he got out of explaining why Doctor M.H. Murdock was not a reliable choice of therapist by their arrival at the park and with the pilot’s realization that: “Wind! Wind off the port bow!”

The car was put into drive and his seatbelt unclicked in a matter of seconds. “Full sails, Captain?”

But even without his door hopping advantage, Murdock was out of the car and fumbling to grab the kite from the back seat. “Full sails and full speed, matey! We have us a breeze to catch and some sky to claim.”

Murdock bounded off for the clearing ahead of them and he had to smile as he watched the man go. It was hot, it was slightly humid, and his hair was already starting to wilt. But it was easy to forget about it for awhile with Murdock next to him, something he kept telling himself would be true with any of his friends. Even if he’d be arguing with Hannibal by now about the business ventures of his newest film, or riding silently with BA to their next point on their check list. Yeah, just as easy with anyone else. Right.

“Faceman, come on!”

He shook his head, locked the trunk, and strode off after the pilot. “Coming, coming!”

The kite was already untangled, Murdock kneeling to attach a long ribbon tail, eyes flicking up to confirm it was Face. “We’ve got winds coming from the north-easterly direction. Set compasses to 0.5.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Face gave a sheepish shrug. “Afraid I left the compass in the other ship. Sorry, Captain.”

“Help these days,” muttered Murdock, shaking his head.

The pilot was having issues tying the knots needed in the tail, and Face squatted down with every intention of helping the man finish the task. But the level of concentration on Murdock’s face was of Atlas proportions, and remembering the incident with the paper planes Face instead stroked a finger along the white ribbon. “Did you make this?”

“In art therapy,” said Murdock, retying a knot. “Course, had to get the rods from the supply closet, but I’m sure they won’t miss ‘em.”

“Please tell me you didn’t use that doctor disguise.”

“I might of.”

To which Face groaned, because Murdock’s doctor disguise, while amusing, was as transparent as shined glass. “Murdock, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to sign you out! They’ll be on the look out for fakes.”

Murdock gave him a bit of a smirk. “Ain’t that your job though? Fake out the fakes and the fakees?”

“Fakees?”

“You know, your scams, the target, the fooleries – all the same thing.” Shaking his head, he let the issue go as Murdock stood, tugging on the string experimentally. “All right, muchacho, I think we’ve got lift off in T-minus one minute.”

Standing and ignoring the pop in his knees, Face let a hand whisk sweat off the back of his neck as he watched Murdock. The man was practically glowing, earlier struggles seemingly forgotten. There were a few people staring at the sight of a grown man futzing and muttering over a kite, and for a moment Face felt his skin flush in what he thought was embarrassment. True, orthodoxy was never part of the A-Team’s collective vocabulary, but outside of the group he didn’t always want the same rules to apply.

A couple out right stopped to stare and Murdock looked over with those confused eyes, asking, “Ready, Faceman?”

He knew the pilot would stop if he asked. Put the kite down, leave the park, and go get lunch instead. But it wouldn’t be the same. He’d know that that smile would be thinking about the park, those hands still itching to curl around kite string instead of a glass, now bare feet itching to be free of Converse once more. And really, what was the harm in that?

What made the flush turn into a cool gaze Face didn’t know. But he did know that the couple was watching him now as he stepped over the shed Chucks to put a protective hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “Mind if I do the honor’s, Murdock?”

Murdock’s eyes widened a bit, but the smile on his lips was delighted. “Not at all, Faceman!” And as Face – a grown, business pant wearing, designer shirt owning man – took the kite, he heard Murdock add, “We’ll make an aviator of you yet, muchacho.”

Point made or not to the couple, that still didn’t stop the fact that, “I don’t think kite-flying counts as being an aviator, Murdock.”

“Theoretically, if we had a kite big enough, we might be able to get the FAA to issue us a license.”

“I’m not scamming a kite that big, Murdock.”

“Aw, Face, come on! We’d be famous! First licensed kite flyers in the history of the world.”

Face rolled his eyes – they weren’t already famous enough? – and tugged on the string because no. Just no. “Ready?”

Holding the frame delicately with his palms, Murdock gave him one last pout. His answering shake of his head had the pilot sighing. “Fine. On three, you run, ok?”

“All right.”

“Three-two-one-go!”

“Wait, hey!” But it was too late. The kite was let go and, not wanting to be responsible for destroying the kite on its maiden flight, Face found himself running, shoes slipping a bit over the grass.

It was ridiculous. It was childish, not at all practical, and wouldn’t it just be better to read about theory than do this? There was no reason for a kite. Particularly one that was going to hover over the ground threateningly, tail snagging in the grass and tip occasionally gouging the earth. Face found himself cursing as he twisted to tug on the string. Definitely not worth the trouble.

Yet…

He couldn’t deny that the minute the wind caught the frame and the kite shot into the sky like a Roman candle his heart swelled a bit because, damn. He did that. He did that. He got that stubborn piece of cheap nylon into the air, and by god it was his hands that were steering it clear of the stubby trees and further into the big blue sky. All him. And it didn’t really matter for just a moment what he looked like, standing in the sun, sweat stains under his pits, wet hair in his face because the kite was in the air, tail fluttering hello.

“Give it more string,” said Murdock gently near his ear, long fingers reaching around his waist to prod at the spool in Face’s hands.

Automatically his own hands moved over Murdock’s to help unhinge the string. The motion caused him to pause, the moment faltering as he glanced over his shoulder to look at the pilot. Murdock, for his part, gave an apologetic shrug and smile, hand moving away regretfully. Regret over moving or leaving the kite, however, Face wasn’t sure.

He opened his mouth to ask, but Murdock was already turning back to the kite. “Give her some lead, Faceman. She wants to dance for ya.”

So he did. “How much?”

Murdock just smiled, eyes riveted to the sky. “As much as ya like.”  
The kite yanked a bit, the rope cutting into his fingers as Face let the line out. He sneaked glances at Murdock as he did, watching the pilot’s fingers twitch and move in an unknown pattern. With a small, knowing smile, he offered the string to Murdock. “Do you…?”

To his surprise, Murdock shook his head, hands disappearing into the pilot’s khaki pockets. “Naw, you do it, Faceman.” A knowing smile tugged on the man’s lips. “Besides, you’ve got to learn for yourself.”

“What am I supposed to be learning again?” he asked, letting a bit more string out. “No, let me guess: lift? Drag?”

“Angle of attack.”

Face felt his mouth open a bit. “What?” Not that he knew what the first one was, but attacking and kites didn’t exactly go together.

Murdock laughed, shaking his head and giving Face another one of those smiles that he wasn’t quite sure was entirely legal. “You’d rather I use the paper airplanes?”

He didn’t really know if that would be better or worse, it would certainly be more private. But Murdock just chuckled again and reached a hand over to stop the string unspooling. “All right, should be enough for now. Now watch…”

It was then that Face noticed the kite had three strings – middle, top, and tail. But he didn’t get to ask why as long fingers hooked the string, the pilot frowning a bit when the string wouldn’t stay crooked in his first knuckle. Face stayed quiet, letting Murdock adjust until brown eyes glanced at him, as if waiting for him to comment. Instead, Face said, “So, angle of attack?”

A thankful smile spread over Murdock’s face. “Right. You remember how wings make airfoils, cuttin’ the air in two with the upper air bein’ faster?”

Face nodded. “That makes lift.”

“Right, well, airfoils help determine angle of attack. The greater the angle, the greater the lift; the smaller the angle, the less lift created.”

Murdock’s eyes went to the kite as Face just watched the pilot’s face. “Seems simple enough.”

“Mmm, well, this gets a bit tricky. See, every wing has a critical angle, where if it stays the plane will stall.” Suddenly, fingers yanked on the bottom most string. The red fabric pitched backwards and began to dive down.

On reflex, Face tugged the string, righting the kite until it was back at normal altitude. He glanced at Murdock, who just smiled. “See?”

“Right.” It was hard to miss that.

“Too high of an angle of attack causes a stall, too low has no lift and you’ll be sinking faster than you can say ‘iceberg’. And since angle of attack is determined by the angle of the middle of the wing, well, you can bet that it differs from plane to plane.”

Face raised an eyebrow, smirking a bit. “Kite to kite too?”

Murdock grinned. “Kite to kite, chopper to chopper, toy plane to toy plane.” Brown eyes went back to the kite and the pilot’s fingers took up all three srings. “Now, as the nose of the wing goes up, angle of attack increases and lift increases, also increasing drag, but what can ya do? Can’t not invite it to the party…”

Face chuckled and watched as the kite zig and zagged, stalling one moment then fighting for more string the next. The entire time that baritone voice went on, talking about chord lines and relative wind and how both created the angle in the first place. He listened, letting Murdock continue with his exposition on how flaps and slats helped alter that airfoil and angle. All the while, those long fingers got less conscious of the fact that they couldn’t quite curl all the way and grew bolder in taking on more of the string.

“Like this?” Face asked at one point, tugging on the kite during a talk about types of stall.

Murdock shook his head, other hand coming up to help adjust the kite. “No, no, like this.” And Face had to smile as he let go of half the spool with one hand, replaced with one of the pilot’s.

By the end of the lecture, Murdock was in full control of the kite and Face just watched as brown eyes traced the kite’s pattern in the sky. Spent, Murdock was silent, but it was a good silence Face decided, because the Southerner’s smile was natural, easy, and far away on things that were flying and not the physio-room or tomorrow’s appointment.

He asked quietly, as more string was let out, “How’s it feel?”  
The pilot blinked away from his thoughts and glanced at him, then down at the spool in his hands. “She’s excited.” Not really what he meant, but ok. “Haven’t done this since I was a kid.”

Face smiled a bit, wistful. “I don’t think I’ve flown one since ‘Nam.”

Murdock stared at him, surprised this time. “Since ‘Nam? Face, that wasn’t flying a kite. That was a balloon. Didn’t you fly one when-”

The pilot shut up as he realized why Face was just shaking his head. “It wasn’t really a common activity at the church. Inner city and all – we were lucky if we got to the park.”

As he said it he realized it wasn’t a fact he’d ever really thought about. Kite flying had never been a regular part of his life, and he hadn’t known it was supposed to be. For Murdock, however, who could build kites like a pro and fly them in ways to demonstrate aerodynamic principles, well, it was a good guess kite flying had been a weekly thing. Face winced at that, dreading looking back at the pity that he was sure would be radiating in those brown eyes.

But when he finally did, unable to avoid Murdock (they were the only two in the vicinity after all), he found that there wasn’t pity there. Just a small, soft little smile. “Aww, Faceman, what am I doing hogging then?”

“No, you’re not-” He didn’t get to finish insisting that he was much happier watching Murdock fly it than him. This whole thing was for the pilot to get back into the sky, after all. The spool was shoved into his hands and his fingers curled around the edges at the pressure from the two hands holding on with him.

He could feel Murdock behind him, head craning to look around his shoulder, mouth much closer to his ear than he was comfortable with allowing. “Now hold on, muchacho. We’re going to really let her fly.”

“I think it’s high enough, Murdock.”

“Just wait.”

Suddenly Murdock was letting the string go, and with it the spool into Face’s hands. The kite was getting higher and higher rapidly. Face panicked for a brief second, more over not wanting to lose the kite than letting it go higher. But at Murdock’s rapturous attention to the kite, he swallowed and let it go, trusting in the pilot next to him to know what he was doing.

“Ain’t it a thing of beauty?” Murdock said quietly as the kite started to become a small dot in the sky. “Can you feel her bucking in the wind, Faceman?”

The strings were trembling, taut enough to play music on. A rub over by the pilot’s hands produced a few strained notes that had them both smiling. The spool strained in Face’s grip, wanting to go faster than the con man could get up. But slowly it went and slowly Face continued until the end of the string was straining around the plastic.

This time it was his turn to watch the kite with rapt attention, the red winking as it was buffeted by the upper atmosphere. There was power in his hands. Wind pulling, lift rising, drag created when he jerked on the spool. At encouragement from Murdock, Face had the kite zigging and zagging at his discretion, back and forth in slow patterns in the sky.

Murdock smiled a bit. “Nice angle.”

He barely registered the compliment, lost in the fact that this was all him. “Yeah.”

Out of his peripheral vision he could see Murdock turn to look at him, scrutinizing look at the distracted tone. But whatever the man was looking at didn’t bother him. Instead, he could have sworn the pilot smiled and gave a small, satisfactory nod before shoving long fingers back into his pockets. “Yeah, huh?”

They stayed like that for awhile, watching the kite fly. And this time, Face couldn’t say that it hadn’t felt like flying.


	5. Chapter 5

Their next lesson was at dusk, which Face knew meant no airplane, real or toy. He didn’t even bother to make plans that Saturday night for any kind of dinner or activity because he was fairly certain Murdock would surprise him in some way or another with something that would ruin whatever he had planned. Besides, it was nice to not have the pressure of needing to have everything organized and set up in advance. No expectations apart from showing up.

Yet even though he anticipated the unexpected, Murdock once again surprised him by insisting they eat first at a small restaurant by the cliffs further north of Malibu.

“You sure?” Face asked, glancing at the dying sun. “We’re running out of daylight, buddy.”

Murdock had just smiled. “I know. But I’m hungry, and it can wait awhile, Faceman.” A bag dumped in the back and a click of the seatbelt told him Murdock’s mind was made up. “Besides, night time’s best for this kind of thing.”

So he had just shaken his head and driven where he was told, which was how they found themselves sitting at an outdoor table across from the cliffs, eating hamburgers from wrappers and watching the sky fade from pink to dark blue. 

“Don’t like fries, Faceman?” Murdock had teased, knowing full well exactly what Face thought about fast food in general. “Let me guess, it’s the crinkles.”

Two could play that game. “Now you know I’m an all-fry type of man.” Murdock snorted. “But I just prefer the smooth ones. They don’t pick up as much ketchup that way.”

“That’s the beauty of these,” argued Murdock, holding out a dripping fry for Face’s inspection. “They pick up more ketchup, really let you sink your teeth in for maximum crunch and maximum sauce. It’s the maximum fry-sauce ratio.”

Murdock gave him a meaningful look and Face had to grin. “Because going over would be too saucy, stalling the taste, and too little drops the flavor of the sauce.” Take that, critical angle curve.

“You have done well, my good and faithful student.” Murdock gave him a short bow before crunching the demonstration fry.

Speaking of angles and flying, however…he cleared his throat. “Is this the lesson then? French fries and ketchup and all those ratio and maximum/minimum curves?” The pilot shook his head, causing Face to frown a bit. “So what are we doing here then?”

“Don’t like just hanging out with me, Faceman?” A pout came with that and he groaned, because the pilot knew full well that he wasn’t opposed to being with the man. He’d flown a kite with him and was spending a perfectly good Saturday night with him. Wasn’t the proof enough?

“Would I really be here if I didn’t?”

Point taken, Murdock nodded and crumpled his napkin with purpose into his pile of empty, grease-laden paper. “Truth is, it’s spaghetti night at the V.A., and I hate eating the stuff. Sauce gets everywhere and it always slips off the fork like it’s got some ultimate agenda and the stuff is just evil, Faceman.”

How spaghetti fit into the flight plan he wasn’t sure, but he saw Murdock curl his fingers – as he was apt to do these days – and he felt like maybe he understood. “I never liked it either. I’d get sauce every where when I was a kid.”

“Nuns don’t like havin’ their habits splattered I take it?”

“Not really.”

“Never took you to be the messy type, Faceman.”

He shrugged at that – it wasn’t an uncommon misconception. “I was six.” He flashed a smile at the memory. “Of course, my natural skills and charm made up in other areas.”

Murdock just chuckled. “No picture no proof, cause I don’t think you could be messy if you tried, muchacho.”

Fair enough, he supposed, and all he could do was shrug. But Murdock’s hands had stopped their subconscious curling and that was enough for him to forget about the fact that he hadn’t told anyone about that incident in years. “Well, believe it or not, it happened.”

“I’ll have to ask Ripley,” grinned Murdock. He snorted at that as Murdock stood, swiping the trash off the table with a glance toward the water. “All right, Face-guy, I think we’re a go for your next lesson.”

The street lamps had long since come on and lights all along the coastal condominiums were starting to blink on. Face wasn’t entirely sure what they were going to do that would help him learn the next set of avionic lessons, but the last two times had worked out, so he supposed he could just wait and see now. Whatever it was, he was glad he had brought his coat this time, as night time by the ocean, even in the summer, got chilly once the sun truly set.

Murdock had his jacket on too by the time they pulled the mysterious bag out of the car again. “You got a lighter, Faceman?”

He frowned slightly. “I didn’t know you took up smoking.” In fact, he was fairly certain that he would have noticed if the man had.

Murdock gave him a reproachful look at the assumption. “Haven’t touched a stick since ‘Nam.”

A quick check found a lighter in the customary inside jacket pocket. He flicked the silver top open to demonstrate that they did, indeed have fire. “I’ve got your back, buddy.”

“Great.” Murdock smiled and shut the trunk once more. “To the sea, good man!”

And with that the pilot went marching past him, humming what sounded like a sea chanty. He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair before the wind could get to it, and followed. “Should I be putting up the Jolly Rogers, Captain?”

A shout trailed the pilot. “Raise ‘em high, Mr. Smee!”

The cliffs were quiet this time of night and the surf was out if the distant waves were being interpreted accurately. Murdock was already ducking under the safety bar to sit on the rocky expanse on the other side. “Hey, buddy, I think they make safety barriers for people like you.”

Murdock scoffed, waving a hand to dismiss the words. “Faceman, I haven’t lived through a war, being shot in the chest, and almost drowned to be scared of falling now.”

He could live with that. He gave a wary glance at the expanse of cliff in front of them before ducking under the rail as well to sit on the other side next to the pilot. Murdock was already hard at work, unloading large, rough sheets of paper, metal wire bent into smooth circles, and small rolled sheets of cotton. Again, he was unsure exactly how Murdock came about this stuff, but he liked to think he had taught the man a thing or two about conning and was just now seeing the pay off of his unintentional lessons.

He picked up a piece of gaudy green and blue paper, scrambling to keep it together when the ends accordioned out. “What is this?”

“Careful,” said Murdock, glancing over at the fumbling. “These things are fragile. Already tore four of them just trying to pack them.”

Face took more care at that news, gingerly spreading out the ends until he found himself looking at what looked like a fat square bag. “I repeat, what is this?”

“That, Faceman, is your lesson on pressure and atmosphere.”

He just stared at the fragile object in his hands. “It’s a bag.”

Murdock’s hands appeared in his vision, holding a circle out to him and a bottle of white glue that had appeared out of what Face was ready to call a Mary Poppins bag (and Murdock said he always fell asleep during those V.A. visitor movie nights). “Kind of. Let’s assemble them and I’ll show you then.”

Stifling an annoyed huff at the glue, Face reluctantly took up the materials and waited for Murdock to settle himself down with his own. “I’ll follow your lead, buddy.”

“Well, it’s pretty basic. Curl the ends of the ‘bag’ around the hoop and glue.” Murdock’s fingers were already working, moving painfully slowly so as not to tear the delicate paper. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Right, ok.” He could do that easily. “And then…?”

Murdock was silent for a moment, the ocean roaring in the distance and almost muting the cars on the road a quarter mile away. It gave Face a chance to realize how close they were sitting, legs almost touching and elbows occasionally bumping the other as they worked. He had to duck his head to hide the small smile that came with that observation, just like he had to hide the frown that immediately followed. So ok, there wasn’t anyone else he would sit on the other side of the safety railing with, getting glue under his fingernails and trying to ignore the salty fish smell that came with being near the cliffs. And maybe that willingness to do just that on a Saturday night was indicative of something more. But it still didn’t mean that the man next to him thought the same way. Even if it was Murdock who shifted until their legs were in danger of entangling.

“There once was a god named Taiyi, and he was God of Heaven during ancient Chinese times.” Face sighed and settled himself down for a tangent. “Now this God of Heaven was a big shot – he controlled the destiny of the human world in its entirety. I mean, this guy had sixteen dragons. Sixteen! Can you imagine the cost of feeding all of them?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I suppose enough tributes could bring the bill down.” He just grinned at the look Murdock threw him.

“Anyway, this Lord Taiyi could bring all sorts of calamity on the earth: storms and famine and bad crops, all of the big baddies that we still don’t like nowadays.” Murdock hands threaded wire, speared cotton, worked and finagled as he talked, Face barely able to keep up. 

“The first emperor of China, however, was a clever guy, and he realized that if a ceremony was held every year to ask Taiyi to bring good health and good weather to him and his people, well then, they’d probably get it, now wouldn’t they?” Wire was attached and suddenly Face had an idea of what was going on.

“Now being aviators, we like good weather.” A bottle appeared from somewhere and Face decided he would have to ask later about exactly how Murdock got into the supply cabinet to get rubbing alcohol. 

The cotton wad on Murdock’s contraption was doused, the lighter handed over, and with a burst of flame the lantern was lit, washing the pilot’s face in soft orange light. Murdock gave him a small smile at his look. “And it never hurts to do a little asking now and then for what we want. Particularly if it lets us do this.”

And with that the lantern was given a gentle push, long fingers reluctantly letting the delicate paper rise up into the chilling night.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea-”

“Shhh, Faceman.”

“One good gust of wind and-”

“I know. Let’s hope Taiyi’s in a good mood.”

Face sighed and, once again, let it go, fixing his eyes instead on the gaudy magenta and purple paper rising into the night sky. He had to admit, the sight could be termed beautiful this time around with the ocean, the few stars peeking through, and the light playing on the sides of the lantern’s body. And there was something peaceful about watching the lantern drift, rising slowly and surely into the night sky.

A glance sideways showed that Murdock thought the same. Long face craned up, eyes hooded, and leaning heavily on his hands for the best view, Face had to smile softly at the sight. No words were needed as he put a tentative hand on Murdock’s shoulder, letting himself become part of the picture. Murdock gave him a glance at the weight of his hand, but there was no shrug to dislodge it. Instead, the pilot smiled before they both looked back up to watch the paper lantern rise. It was only when the lantern began to fall, the light dying, that one of them spoke again.

“That was…”

“Yeah,” Murdock agreed.

He glanced at the pilot, curious now, as he always was. “How did you learn to make these?”

Murdock shrugged a bit, but there was a hint of pride in that voice and in the way the man’s head arched just so. “First leave in ‘Nam, I went to Bangkok. Managed to get there at just the right time for the end of the New Year. Learned from an old blind man in a sake shop while the fire works went off.”  
“I thought you went to Saigon on leave.”

A smile met that. “That was the first time I met you. Wasn’t my first tour, Faceman.”

All Face could say was, “Huh.” And here he thought he’d known so much about the Army’s most decorated and mysterious chopper pilot.

As if sensing the disappointment, Murdock gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. “I’ll tell ya about it sometime.”

There was a promise in those eyes that Face acknowledged with a raise of an eyebrow. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Murdock grinned. “I know.” A clap of the pilot’s hand had him jumping and Murdock grinning even wider. “But first, atmospheric pressure lesson!”

It was such an abrupt change that Face had to laugh, shaking his head when Murdock just stared in confusion. “Right, right, of course.”

Because that was all this was, wasn’t it? A lesson, nothing more. Dinner and a talk by the sea couldn’t be anything more than just that, no matter how much it seemed like it could be something more.

Brown eyes furrowed a bit before Murdock spoke, slowly, feeling out his audience. “Now hot air rises, which is why these lanterns go up when we light the flame. But hot air is also less dense, and it makes it hard for the rotor blades to bite into the air and generate thrust and thus, lift. In hot and high places, more power has to be used to generate more lift. Now notice that your lantern has a bigger piece of cotton and the potential for more power, in a sense…”

Face just smiled as their hands brushed, and, damn it, ok. Perhaps there might be something here. Maybe. Murdock was still fairly occupied with temperature differences and density altitude and the differences between that and pressure altitude (he didn’t know there were four different variations on altitude – his head was spinning a bit). Which was fine, because at least Murdock’s hands weren’t curling or shaking and they seemed to be a bit stronger today, and that was what really counted.

Yet he liked to think that maybe something else counted too as he his lantern, the blue and green pulsating against his fingers. He tried to let it go, having to lunge forward to grab it when it threatened to fall to the ground. Murdock laughed a bit, quietly, causing his cheeks to redden slightly.

“Part of flying, Faceman, is responding to the aircraft and knowing when it’s ready for your commands.” Murdock smiled and then nodded at the lantern. “Just wait for it.”

So he did, though he couldn’t help but wonder what the pilot would say if he just said… He let the thought go, as he did with the lantern, the paper billowing and tugging lightly into the breeze. Murdock gave a small wave as the paper drifted over the cliffs and the both sat there for awhile as their last lantern headed onward.

“Not bad,” said Murdock softly.

He snorted a bit at that. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did plenty, Faceman.”

A glance over found a soft smile, shyer now, and for a moment they both watched the other, unsure. Watched and maybe moved in a bit more until a sharp fizzle caught both of their attention toward their lantern. Their lantern now ablaze and rapidly falling to the beach below.

“See now, Faceman, now would be a good time to talk about the effect of cabin fires on aircraft control…”

Face just laughed, Murdock joining in a few moments later. And though they both leaned back to wipe tears from their eyes, well, it was enough for now.


	6. Chapter 6

By the next lesson it was Face who was the one tugging at the reigns to go.

He hadn’t expected to get into flying like this. Aviation was supposed to be the key to Murdock’s heart, or at least a way to peer in through the glass and determine what was there and what was an act of Face’s own projected hopefulness. But the more he delved into the topic, the more he found himself actually buying manuals and looking at aviation charts. And the more he learned, the more he found himself looking up in wonder instead of annoyance when an airliner zoomed over head, telling himself: Murdock flies that.

At first he told himself that this new sense of awe into the entire thing was because of Murdock. Murdock was contagious, and so were his personas. It stood to reason that if Face could get drawn into a game of cowboys on a mission then Murdock could draw him into his passions as well.

Yet it was more than that. He found himself stalling from attending a premier because if he waited just fifteen more minutes he could catch Murdock via phone call before it was lights out at the V.A. He had wanted to pick the man’s brain about flight zones and what exactly was the difference between Golf and Echo air space. He’d ended up being almost an hour late because the conversation had derailed half way through into something about dolphins.

He still couldn’t tell you how they got there, but it had been fun.

By the end of the week, he couldn't tell you what had him headed for the V.A. an hour early for their next lesson - Murdock or the promise of actual flying (or as close as they ever really got to the verb). It left Face with time to drive and think, two activities that Murdock always told him he did too much of. It really was as good a time as any, however to ask himself a question that had started to burn even more brightly since this whole fiasco started.

What exactly was Murdock to him?

There was no denying what the lantern lesson had felt like. Not typical, but nothing with Murdock really was, and he couldn't really begrudge the man that. But, Murdock had also said it was to escape spaghetti, and no one escapes pasta with a lean and a look like that. Yet then again this was Murdock, the man who knew only the slightest definition of personal space and societal acceptance. But there had been that look, and if there was one thing Face felt he was good at it was decoding Looks. Yet maybe Murdock always had that look and he hadn't noticed until now...

Round and round thoughts went, ruminating until the only thing he could do was park the car and the matter, wait for more data, and proceed from there. 

As Murdock said, feel the aircraft out and respond, an analogy that seemed to work pretty well if he thought of Murdock as an old time bi-plane or an A-12.

It took some finagling, but he finally managed to convince the V.A. staff that, no, no one would be impaled on the remote control antenna, yes, he would be with Murdock the entire time, and yes, it would be a great exercise for the pilot what with the small controls and delicate motions required. Definitely worth pushing back that counseling appointment so that the man could spend the last of the yard hours outside with him.

There had been a few twitters from the nurses at the sight of a grown man in a suit carrying a children’s toy under his arm. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t shift a bit uneasily at the looks he was getting.

But Murdock bounding out, letting the therapy ball thud to the floor and ignoring the squawking from the physical therapist, had Face smiling and holding out the box he had so carefully held on to for the past week.

“Huey!” At least the man remembered the fake name this time.

“Murdock!”

“You got it!”

“I do indeed. Had to use a net and everything.”

They grinned at each other and bustled down the hall and out to the yard via the first and most convenient exit. “You ready to see this baby fly, muchacho?”

“I’m ready to fly it, yes.” He’d waited long enough to get a chance at this, even if it was just with a toy plane. “Paper is fun, but I’m ready to see something the wind can’t blow away get in the air for once.”

“Theoretically, if there was a strong enough wind-”

Face rolled his eyes. “We could all end up in Oz, yes, I know. You know what I mean, buddy.” By the smirk on the pilot’s face he knew the man did. “Now come on, before I drop a house on this thing and strand us in Emerald City, all right?”

He had no idea why he said that, and Murdock gave him a curious stare as he headed out into the sun. But that was all secondary to the fact that today they were flying. Not gliding, not hovering, not floating – flying. He was more than ready to finally see what all of the fuss was about himself.

And, more importantly he had to remind himself, see Murdock finally take the controls of something that wasn’t his arcade machine.

They picked the open area near the back of the property, mostly because there was a strip of grass big enough for a mock airport, which Murdock was setting up. Face listened as Murdock pointed out the holding lines, the taxiway ending hash marks, and the mock wind sock made out of one of Face's handkerchiefs ("You're the only one that carries these anymore, Faceman"), fluttering in the north-westerly wind. He managed to parrot back satisfactory answers as the plane was assembled in his hands, spending his time switching between watching his own hands and watching Murdock’s, watching the smile that seemed to perpetually tug at the pilot’s lips. By the time Murdock was standing at his side, he was still screwing the last battery panel back into place.

“So, you ready, Faceman?”

He gave Murdock a look. “Come on, Murdock. We’ve done practically everything but fly. I don’t think I could be more ready to actually see your avionics in action.”

It was a satisfactory answer, apparently, as Murdock laughed. “Faceman, you sayin’ I’ve been lyin’ to you?”

“I wouldn’t know better if you were,” he countered, making the pilot let loose another peal of laughter.

“Aw, Face, I would never lie to you!” Murdock grinned down at him as the last screw tightened. “I’ll prove it.” He smiled in return. “But first, here.”

He groaned as Murdock held out the plane instead of the remote. “I don’t think this is going to be like the kite, Murdock.”

“That is an idea, but I just want you to feel it right now instead of throw it.” That had him pause mid-sarcastic-comment. “Go ahead, heft it around in your hands.”

There were a few things that came to mind with that statement, but he repressed the images and did as he was told with a bit of a frown. “All right, I’m hefting.”

“What do ya feel?”

“Plastic.”

“Come on, Faceman, more specific than that.”

“Black plastic?”

“Face…”

Face sighed and looked at the plane. “It’s heavier than I thought it was.” At an encouraging noise of confirmation, he went on. “The tail part’s longer than I thought. And I didn’t know these flaps went up.”

Murdock just smiled. “Less specific. Think general feelings…”

He’d have been more than happy to play along if the prompt wasn’t general in of itself. He gave Murdock a look but shifted the plane in his hands nonetheless. It was longer and heavier than he thought, and when he flipped it over he could see how small the engine was in comparison to the body. The fact that the entire thing was supposed to be in the air on that small motor had him frowning in thought, a fact Murdock picked up on quickly.

“Kinda heavy, and big, and awkward-like, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s still kind of amazes me that these things even fly.”

A snap caught his attention and he found Murdock smiling wide; that Cheshire Cat grin reserved for Alice when she finally got something that should have been obvious. “That’s exactly it.”

This caused him to blink and maybe his mouth opened a little and stayed that way. “What is? That it’s heavy?”

Murdock shook his head. “That it shouldn’t fly.” He just blinked again and Murdock reached out to run his fingers across the bumpy exterior. “Humans were not meant to fly, Faceman, or we'd have been born with wings or super powers or really big sails on our backs. Fact of the matter is, though, there's no creature that wants to fly more than us."

"What about penguins?"

"They don't count." He shut the sarcasm down and let Murdock continue. "When the Wright Brothers created the first honest to God flying machine, they were relying on something that was as foundational to aviation as the modern day bomber. Somethin' that's still just as important today as it was back in the late 1700s, with the Montgolfier brother's hot air balloon. Without it, there's no sense in learning to fly anything except your own mouth at one of those parties you like so much."

"It's Hollywood - that's all anyone does at those things!" he protested, but at the reproachful look he sighed, trying not to smile a bit. "Sorry."

"Anyway,” continued Murdock. “You’re finally tapping in to the true Spirit of St. Louis, Faceman.”

"The what?"

Murdock gave him a long suffering sigh. "The Spirit of St. Louis."

He had to think about that one. “Lindbergh’s plane?”

The fact he knew that was enough to impress him and make Murdock smile. “Only one of the most well known plane of all time, Face, belonging to one of the most beloved aviators, too.”

"How does his plane have to do with the overall field of aviation?" At Murdock's look, he added. "Ok, besides the obvious."

Murdock's smile softened a bit and he chuckled, low and quiet. "Faceman, what did Charles Lindbergh, Amelia Earhart, Chuck Yeager, Wiley Post, Roscoe Turner, Bessie Coleman-"

"I get it, I get it, all pilots." The list would go on if he didn't step in now. "What about them, Murdock?"

"What did they all have in common, Faceman?"

"Licenses?" At Murdock's look he scowled a bit, because he had only started learning. It wasn't like he went to the library and looked up aviation history and famous aviators for the sole purpose of having the knowledge. "An interest in aviation? They liked planes?"

The guesses earned him another eye roll and a clap to the shoulder. "They had spirit, Faceman. Gutso, bravado, the right stuff, so to say." Face groaned at that but Murdock ignored him. "The Spirit of St. Louis made the first transatlantic in a non-stop, fixed wing journey from North America to Europe. It's one of the greatest American achievements to this day, and it's dwarfed by years of similar achievements. Alcock and Brown in the first non-stop transatlantic flight from the UK to Ireland, and before them Read's transatlantic shuttle stop style hops across the pond."

There was a serious look in those brown eyes now, fingers tightening subconsciously on Face's shoulder. "Flying is dangerous, Faceman, I ain't goin' to lie to you about that. Lindbergh was lucky. Some aviators are never even found when they go down..."

Face let Murdock gather himself for a moment, faces flashing in his own mind of the pilots that came and went before Murdock. Before they got one that actually came home.

"Point is, Face, aviation lives cause us pilots have a certain sense of spirit that feeds us. It's what helped Lindbergh even attempt that crossing in the first place."

There was a humble kind of pride in that voice that had Face guess, "Courage?" He could see that, was seeing how it took a certain kind of guts to tame machine.

"Kind of." Murdock ran another reverent finger across a wing tip. "It's more like an overwhelming sense of awe."

"Awe?" frowned Face. "I'd say more like stubborn determination."

"That too." Murdock grinned a bit, but gave him another even more serious look. "But that comes from a sense of awe. You see, if you don't admire something you can't have the courage to face it, and you can't be stubborn as a mule over something not worth confronting. No, it's that feeling that comes when you realize just how few planks of wood separate you from death on one of those rope bridges over a gorge, or how big the ocean actually is and how there are more stars than we'll ever be able to name."

Face gave a small smile. "I'm sure you could help with that." 

"I do have a talent for names," smiled Murdock in return. His hand squeezed Face's shoulder again. "Point of all this, Faceman, is that you're finally understandin' that in order to be a flyboy you got to be in awe of the things you're settin' out to do. Because flyin' is a manifestation of exactly what the human spirit can do when it sets its mind to somethin'."  
It took him a moment to figure that out, sorting the words and distilling down to what Murdock was trying to say. And when he finally did get it, Face wondered why he hadn't seen it before. That look of joy, that peaceful, serene look in the man's eyes, the way he always managed to control the panic the rest of them felt when the plane was on fire and headed toward the ground. Flying wasn't the same when those expressions were gone; maybe it was the expressionless flying that maybe BA really feared.

As if realizing Face had come to an epiphany, Murdock pressed the remote into his hands. "What are you waiting for, flyboy? Let's see what you learned about thrust and take-off.”

"Murdock, I..." He didn't know how to say he understood. That Murdock's job really was irreplaceable.

No one else could have that much awe in them.

Murdock just shook his head. "It's all right." The man smiled, forgiving the ignorance, and he had to smile back. They both looked away seconds later, clearing their throats in rough unison.

Here it was, go time, and while his fingers itched to show the pilot everything the man had taught him, he didn’t miss the fact that Murdock was watching with crinkled eyes, shoulders hunched just slightly, mouth upturned in the barest of smiles.

Murdock raised an eyebrow at him, their finger tips almost touching over the remote. “Everything ok, muchacho?”

He had to think about how to answer that, looking from the remote to Murdock and back a few more times. “It’s your plane, Murdock. You should be the first to control it.”

If Murdock was surprised he didn’t show it. Instead, the Southerner shrugged and gave a bright smile, pushing the remote toward him and laying his other hand on top of Face’s. “I want you to do it.”

“But Murdock-”

A flicker of something went through Murdock’s eyes, but the man kept a smile on his face. “Come on, Face, but a man.”

Face couldn’t resist a challenge like that. Though he did pause as Murdock set the plane down, and his mouth twisted into a half frown. He still had yet to see or hear Murdock mention touching controls. That needed to change. “Hey, buddy?”

Murdock looked up and at his look was over by his side. “What’s up, Faceman?”

“Which one was the on switch again?” The pilot snorted but pointed out the appropriate switch. “And the throttle?” A long finger pointed at the second closest controller. “How about the yoke?”

“Face, were you even listening to anything I said earlier?” All he could do was shrug sheepishly. With a cluck of his tongue and roll of his eyes, Murdock moved closer and began to point out switches. “This is power, this is throttle, this is directional and- Face, you even listening?”

“Just help me get it up.”

There was a pause before they both started smiling, then snorting, then laughing like school kids as they both fussed with the antennae and double checking switches. Face glanced at Murdock as he tried not to snort, finding brown eyes on him already. They both laughed again, but this time their identical looks lingered a bit.

Face was the one who broke it this time, nudging the other man’s shoulder. “Together?”

“All right.” Murdock took the throttle as Face took the yoke. “On three…”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three,” they both said.

The plane buzzed to life, rolled forward, then veered over the running edge line of the runway.

"Right, Face, right!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!"

The plane zagged its way into some approximation of a proper flight path and then the nose was lifting up with a whine. Murdock's fingers were smooth, Face's jerky, but somehow the plane shuddered into the air as Murdock grinned. "Tower this is aircraft niner-eight-two-Tango-Alpha-Papa, entering flight pattern."

"You didn't ask permission to take off," he couldn't help but tease.

Murdock snorted. "Should be sayin' that of you, flyboy! This is your show. I’m gonna have to mark you down now. Pretending to take out a notebook, Murdock gave a very exaggerated performance of marking off points, only half of which Face saw because staring for too long meant almost crashing the plane into a tree.

That lead to a lecture on air safety and air patterns and how balloons have the right of way in the air because they can’t move for shit, while helicopters are practically the bottom rung because they can maneuver faster with fewer blind spots. All the while, Face listened, or tried, because flying that little plane was distracting. The remote hummed in his hands, the small whine drew several curious glances that he found were easy to ignore because Murdock showed him how to do sharp, banking turns with the grace of a pro. 

It still wasn’t really flying, in the traditional sense. But the control Face had in that small black box was overwhelming, and though Murdock was snorting at the fact that his flying was more akin to a drunk bumblebee than a hawk, Face did have to agree. There was a sense of awe in the fact that he had made that machine fly. Him. Master over machine. Knowing the entire while that one wrong move would have the thing in the trees.

“Not bad, Faceman, not bad,” said Murdock, watching as he managed to level the wings out.

Face smiled a bit. “Yeah, well, I think I’m probably not going to be applying for the Thunderbirds any time soon.”

Murdock smiled at that, rubbing his fingers a bit. “Mmm, well, a year or two of practice and we’ll have you ready to think about someday applying.”

He laughed, Murdock chuckling with before turning to look at the plane overhead. Laughter trailing comfortably out, Face watched that easy smile slide onto the man’s face, brown eyes hooded, eyes watching but not entirely there. Murdock’s fingers were starting to curl as that gaze got a bit more distant, and before he could even think Face put a hand on the pilot’s shoulder. At the touch Murdock glanced over to find a soft, reassuring smile. It brought a fuller smile back to the pilot’s face, and for a moment Face could have sworn that they were on the exact same wave length.

Things would be ok.

Until a whining noise of a spectacular dive bomb caught their attention (and everyone in the yard’s) and the plane made an impressive crash landing right into a tree.

Face reddened as Murdock laughed. “And just look at that dismount! That’s going to cost him some points from the Russians!” Chuckling at Face’s coloration, Murdock patted his shoulder. “Should be salvageable, Faceman, don’t worry.”

He sighed, and figured it was bound to happen anyway. Better with the toy than the real thing. “Let’s get it out and I’ll let you handle it from now on.”

Murdock shook his head, corners of his mouth pinching a bit. “No, no, practice makes perfect, Face. Besides, I’ve had plenty of practice. Time for someone else to have a go.”

“But you’ve barely touched it.”

“It’s fun just watchin’ you, Face.” The pilot gave him a smile and Face sighed because Murdock could be as stubborn as BA sometimes. “Besides, I need to teach you about crosswinds, and trust me, it’s better with visual aids.”

He couldn’t deny it probably was. But he wished Murdock would take up the controls for once. He didn’t like how the pilot was shuffling and digging his hands into his pockets with the ferocity of a dirt-starved mole. “Fine, fine.”

They both looked up at the plane, then at the remote, then up at the tree. When a few wiggles of the remote did nothing, Face bit his lip and glanced at Murdock. The pilot raised an eyebrow at the tree. “You know what else makes a good visual?”

“What?”

“Something else not stuck in a tree.”

Face had to agree. He smiled a bit. “Dinner?” They could probably find some way to get Murdock out, even if it was the old run for it scheme.

Brown eyes met his and lit up a bit. “It’s a date.”

He paused at that, enough so for Murdock’s face to fall. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Face. Was just teasin’ ya and you know how I am, words just running out, like Road Runner, meep meep!”

There was only a split second to decide, one of those moments where Face had to let reflexes decide. He could concentrate on pros, he could ruminate on cons, but he would lose either way if he did that. And if there was one thing Face didn’t like it was to lose everything, theoretical or not.

So instead, Face leaned in and offered a crooked elbow. “Captain Bellybuster’s it is. And perhaps a movie, or would you prefer dessert, darling?”

Murdock stared at him, having to be encouraged with a waggle of the con man’s eyebrows before those brown eyes fluttered coquettishly. “Why, I do declare! What a gentleman.”

They paused in their movements, close now enough for Face to see the new wrinkles around Murdock’s eyes and the bitten down nails on the man’s hands. And there was still that trace there of something not quite right, and not in the good kind of lost way. But his mind wouldn’t focus. Instead, it zeroed in on the fact that Murdock’s cold hand (Murdock was sensitive these days) and the fact that it was on his arm like it was the most natural place in the world for it, and stayed there.

All Face could do was grin. “After you.”

Murdock brought a hand up to his chest as they walked casually along to the front entrance, both preparing to make a run for it even as they passed an occupied orderly. “My hero.”

And as Murdock gave him a lopsided grin before making a break for it, Face vowed he would be. He would be the one to get the man back into the sky, or die trying. Or something like that. He just needed to figure out why the man was so reluctant.

No trouble at all…


	7. Chapter 7

It hit Face at exactly 2:38 a.m., about a week and a half later, as to exactly why the pilot didn't want to touch the controls.

The thought had him bolting up out of bed, hair messed up and clothing still on from the dinner (date?) he had gotten back from only three hours ago. Blinking sleep out of his eyes and attempting to unconsciously make himself presentable with a hand through his hair, he wondered why exactly it hadn't occurred to him sooner and if this meant he was maybe starting to lose his touch. Either way, it felt like it was the easiest, most obvious answer, which - Face supposed - was usually how these things worked out anyway.

Murdock was scared.

A pilot, scared to fly. Awe-ful feelings turned to awful ones, all because of a crash that had been out of Murdock's control to do anything about. There was no doubt in Face's mind as soon as the rest of his rational, non-emotion parts of his brain woke up, that his epiphany was the correct and absolutely true reason behind that night's awkward conversation.

Definitely explained why - as they sat on the pier and watched lines be reeled in, laughing over the arcade owner's exasperation at having to chase two full grown men out of the place at closing - Murdock didn't look him in the eye when he stated, casually, high off laughing and dinner and a general good time, "You and me, buddy, the next Abbot and Costello of the flying world."

"Mmm."

It wasn't the response he had expected and Face glanced over at the pilot, the taller man hunched over the pier railing like an old man. A stark change from four seconds ago.

Noticing Face's eyes on him, Murdock sighed. "Face, about that..." The con man's stomach dropped. "I think you should find a teacher to do your flight time."

He frowned. "What's wrong with the one I have?"

Murdock just gave him an exasperated look. "Well, for starters, I don't technically have a license to teach, or a license at all."

"Yeah, well, technically speaking I don't have a right to learn." It was a moot point, really, not even worth thinking about.

"It's a lot of scamming for both of us, Face." He shrugged and Murdock sighed. "Plus, I have to stay in the V.A., Faceman. I can't keep getting passes out three or four times a week, and if you want to learn in reasonable parameters, you have to fly more often than that."

"Murdock," he sighed, because he understood the concerns, but there wasn't anyone he'd rather learn from. Didn't the man understand that? "I don't need to learn right away. We can go slow."

"You have to fly at least three times a week."

There was an insistent quality in that voice and in that hard look that had Face turning to lean with his back against the railing and run a hand through his hair. "Fine, fine. I'll get a part time instructor, and you can fly with me on the weekends. How's that?"

It evidently wasn't what the pilot wanted to hear, as Murdock buried his face in a hand and took a deep breath. "Face, no."

"Come on, buddy," he tried again, changing tactics. "You know more than any flight school instructor here is going to know, and who better to teach me safety than someone who's had to use half of those procedures at least once?"

The look Murdock gave him could best be described as guilt. "Face, just because I've used them doesn't mean someone else doesn't know how to teach them. Besides..." There was a long pause as the pilot chewed on his lower lip. "I just think you should find someone licensed, Face. It's safer."

Something had been left out and he knew it, narrowing his eyes at the pilot until Murdock looked back down to the wood railing. "How is it safer? Murdock..." He put a hand on a thin shoulder and squeezed, reassuringly. "I want to learn from you. We started this together, so let's finish it, ok?"

Murdock just shook his head. "No, Face."

"Murdock-"

"Face." Brown eyes locked onto his and Face found himself leaning back a bit at the stubborn, determined glint there. "No."

"But-"

"I don't want to fly with you."  
There was an awkward silence. Face's hand slipped from Murdock's shoulder and the pilot's fingers curled, nails scratching at the wood. Face couldn't lie and say he wasn't hurt - he was. Hurt that, one, Murdock didn't want to fly with him (which had been the whole original point of this venture), two, hurt that there was obviously something more here that he couldn't see and, three, that Murdock was too stubborn to tell him straight out what was wrong

"Why not?" he finally asked, quietly.

The pilot sighed, deep and low. "Face, it's not you-"

"It's me." Face finished, unable to hide the irritation. "So what is it?"

"Just want you to have the best, Faceman," Murdock assured, putting a hand on Face's shoulder and moving in just a bit. “Want you to be safe…”

"You're the best pilot the Air Force and the Army have had in years. Why wouldn’t I be safe?" He shrugged the hand off, a hurt look flashing through Murdock's eyes that mirrored his own. The only difference was he was better at hiding it under the guise of irritation. Particularly as Murdock had said close to that same thing so many times he only heard it in the pilot's drawl in his own mind. A thought hit him. "Is this about your hands?”

“No.” Yet those brown eyes flickered away for just a moment and Face felt like he had found at least part of the problem.

“Just yesterday you told me the therapist said you were progressing!”

“I am, Face! But that doesn’t mean I can do it!”

Face almost stopped himself at the frustration in that voice, frustration aimed at him and, he was guessing, at Murdock himself. But it wasn’t fair. The man wasn’t interested and this whole venture was turning into a bust. The con man wasn’t one to give up easily, however, and wasn’t walking away from this with no Murdock and no license. “Murdock, you can do this. You. Can. Do. This.”

“I know I can.” The ice had Face pausing, eyes raking the long, angular points of Murdock’s shoulders, tensed tightly.

“Then why are you saying no?”

“It isn’t safe for me to do it, ok?” Murdock gave him an angry look, fingers clenched tightly. At the taken aback expression on Face, however, the pilot let the anger go. “I don’t want you to get hurt because I can’t get a hold of the yoke in time, or find the pedals with my feet.”

“You’ve done this for years, buddy, it’s not something that can go away just like that.” Face wanted to reach out and touch the man, but all he managed were his finger tips awkwardly on the pilot’s shoulder.

Murdock shifted under the touch. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Face. And you’re still learning, you’re bound to make mistakes…”

He just raised an eyebrow, because one minute Murdock doesn’t think he can do it, the next Face is the one who can’t. Which he can’t, in that sense, but he likes to think that he’s not going to crash the plane on the first go. “Ones bad enough that you can’t fix?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“Then what do you mean, that I’m just that bad?"

"No, no!" Both of Murdock's hands were up, protesting the sentiment, and it was then that Face realized they were shaking. "Face, it ain't that, promise. You've caught on quicker than a coon to tin and you'll be getting that PPL in weeks, or my name ain't H.M Murdock."

Face took a deep breath to calm down and assure himself that, no, it wasn't him, and to let Murdock take a moment as well. It wasn't exactly how he had thought the evening would end, and by the way the pilot was fidgeting the sentiment was mutual.

Murdock tentatively put a hand back on his shoulder and this time he let it stay. "It's just better if you get a proper license, with it signed off in your pilot's log properly and all. They won't accept my numbers cause I ain't registered anymore, and then it will all have been a waste."

It wouldn't have been, Face wanted to say. But instead, when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a bitter, "Then why didn't you tell me to begin with?"

The pilot fidgeted, hands shoved into his pockets. "You seemed so excited and you were really insistent - it's hard to say no to you, Faceman..." Face's stomach dropped again until a quieter drawl added, "Besides, nice to get out with good company..." A sideways glance and a tentative, "A good friend...?"

So was that all he was? A friend? His heart sank this time. "Oh."

Murdock glanced at him at that. "Oh?" An offended oh to his oh.

"Just, friends..." He trailed realizing what that sounded like after the man had clearly drawn the line. Off Murdock's look, though, he elaborated. "I just wasn't sure if we were..."

"What, friends?" Confusion was easy to see in the pilot's eyes. "Why wouldn't we be?" Off Face's shrug, the Southerner added, "What would we be?"

They both faced each other now, the smell of fish hitting them both as a late night breeze shifted through. Face was sure he could taste sand and salt as he swallowed, not sure how to proceed. He had an answer now, but accepting it was harder to do than he thought. At least Murdock appeared to be in the same boat of unease, fingers visibly twitching even through his pants.

"I was just..."

"Forget it..."

"Probably a good..."

"Yeah..."

Uncomfortable silence replaced unease and they both leaned back over the railing, watching the waves or watching the shoreline. Anything but each other.

Face ran a hand through his hair. At least he knew now, and with that came deep embarrassment. He hadn't meant-wouldn't have invested himself so thoroughly if he had known, because that is what he had done. He’d grown bolder upon seeing more signs, or what he thought were signs. The leans, the carefully planned lessons, the dinners, the small smiles and signs and just everything that he had felt. That feeling inside him that had grown beyond the affection he had labeled it as and into something more. Something he was still afraid to label and that was currently making him want to punch something in disappointment.

“Face…” He glanced over to find Murdock hunched, head bowed so low it was almost resting on the rail. “I’m sorry.”

The exhaustion in Murdock’s voice brought out his own. “It’s all right, buddy.”

“It isn’t.”

“It’s all right.”

They listened to the surf for awhile after that. Murdock had made valid points, part of his brain told him, and while he may be upset that there was nothing there, that didn’t mean there couldn’t be what they had before. There would be others in life, and he owed it to Murdock to be the friend the man needed.

So with a heavy heart, Face reached out and put his arm around Murdock. The pilot startled a bit, looking over at him with a thoroughly bitten lower lip that did nothing to help Face. Instead of leaning in, Face swallowed and gave him a small bit of a smile. “It’s all right. I understand.”

He didn’t, but it made Murdock smile a bit in return. An uneasy smile that didn’t reach the man’s eyes. But some of the tensions did ease and that was all that really mattered.

“I should be gettin’ back.”

“Right.”

If things had gone right, he would have asked Murdock back to his place and let the man sleep on his couch. If things had gone even more right, well, he wouldn’t be waking up alone. Then again, if that had been the case, he might not have woken up just now with the answer to why Murdock was fighting the pilot’s seat every step of the way.

He should have known when the man went on about safety, about proper licensing, about Face having the best. He should have remembered what that first crash was like in the jungle, humid smoke only half obscuring the wild look in Murdock’s eyes as he watched them cover the co-pilot’s body. He should have figured it out that the only thing that connects all of Murdock’s argument was that crash, and who could fault someone for being fearful when they almost died?

After they almost killed one of their only friends left in this world?

Face felt stupid and dull and his head hurt from the four night caps he had downed to get himself to calm down. But most of all he felt a rising heat in his chest because no. No. He had seen what fear could do, and he wasn’t letting Murdock go down like that. He wasn’t letting the possibility of…that go down like this. And perhaps that was one of the con man’s weak points – his inability to give up on something he wanted. There was a good chance Murdock didn’t need his help at all.

But like it or not, Murdock was going to get help. Because Face couldn’t let go, not after this long.

Not after – and he flopped back onto the bed, heart beating so hard it hurt in his chest – he had just come to label that funny feeling from earlier.


	8. Chapter 8

Face wasn’t hideously surprised when Murdock was ill for their next lesson, and though he would normally push the issue, he let it go. He had, after all, gotten the man back long after the pass had allowed and whether sick or just confined, it didn’t particularly matter. They both needed space – him to plan and Murdock to cool down.

He didn’t let Murdock get out of their lesson that weekend, however. “Murdock, I got a weekend pass already.”

“Face, I’m tired.” And the pilot did sound tired over the phone. He could picture Murdock slumped on his bed, socked feet hanging off and cap sideways on his head. “Next week, promise.”

But Face wanted this resolved, one way or the other, and the sooner the better. “I already made reservations.” Which was true, in one sense. “Come on, Murdock, if this is about the other night…”

Murdock sighed, shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “No, it ain’t that.” It probably was, but Face would address it later.

“Then why not?”

"I'm tired.

"Sleep in the car."

"I promised Billy a play day."

"He can come."

"In the Vette?"

"I'll put down newspaper."

“I have therapy, Faceman…”

“On Saturdays?”

He had the pilot in a corner and Murdock knew it. After a long pause the pilot sighed, shifting irritably. “All right, what time?”

Face smiled and managed to contain most of his triumphant tone, channeling his excitement into twirling the phone cord around his fingers. “Saturday, 10 o’clock.”

“You want me to bring it?”

“No.” They wouldn’t need the toy plane. Not this time. “Just yourself.”

If Murdock was puzzled he didn’t say anything, though he did give Face a curious look when Face met him in the V.A. lobby that bright Saturday morning, the con man smiling coolly in that way that Murdock knew meant something was up. The pilot refrained from asking, however, until after they had pulled the scam – poor Mr. Murdock needed intensive nature therapy for the weekend out at the lake, it was good for the complexion, because a pallid face is a sure fire sign of a relapse as that new study showed, didn’t you read that one? Most influential.

“A weekend, Face? I thought we were just getting lunch, maybe dinner.” Brown eyes were watching him as the pulled away with a squeal, one stiff hand hanging out the side like old times.

Face flashed him a reassuring smile. “Well, now we’re getting both. I thought we’d go get hamburgers for lunch and somewhere nice for dinner.”

Murdock frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t pack anything…”

It came out before he could stop himself. “You’re fine just the way you are, buddy.”

The pilot gave him a surprised look and he blushed a bit, looking forward and wondering what the hell possessed him to say that. Particularly as they had already established…but the man hadn’t been in his right emotional state. There was still a chance. There had to be. So many signs couldn’t be wrong. He never misread, never.

But the awkward silence had already descended and all Face could do was clear his throat and change the topic. “So did you hear about Hannibal’s newest part?”

That got them back onto normal speaking terms soon enough and he even had Murdock chuckling by the time they pulled up to their destination. He was proud of himself for this, knew it might trigger another quasi-fight, might not go well. But he was hoping it was met with the enthusiasm he so badly wanted to see. Wanted this to go down like the pictures in his mind that he’d seen so vividly for the past week. So it was with bated breath that engines roared and Murdock’s head whipped forward as they drove up.

There was a good three minutes of silence in the Vette, car shifted into park, engine turned off, before Murdock spoke. “Why are we here, Faceman?”

Face chose to ignore the flat tone. “To fly, of course.”

Brown eyes locked onto him, boring into his skull with the intensity of confusion and irritation. “Face, we talked about this.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“That’s fine.”

A small plane whined over head as Murdock took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked back out at the hangar, hands braced palms down on the dash. “So why are we here then, Face?”  
“Well, we’re not flying together.”

“I think we established that.”

Face just glanced at his watch, unable to keep a smile off his face despite the thick tension. “But you’re flying.”

Murdock just stared at him. “Face.”

Casual, calm, cool, Face was pretty proud of himself as he adjusted his sunglasses, shading his eyes further to squint at a plane high above in the flight pattern. “Hm?”

“Face.”

“Yes?” Murdock was getting frustrated, he could tell by the way the man’s hands were turning white against the dashboard. It was his cue to turn and look the brown eyes dead on. “Murdock.”

He had the pilot’s rapt attention, so he smiled. A soft smile that didn’t have a secret or a surprise or a trick up its sleeve. Nothing but an honest to god smile, or so he hoped. Sometimes he worried about being so out of practice with real that he belonged with Murdock in the land of unreal. He wasn’t sure it worked, but it was worth trying to dig up once more for this.

“Murdock, I know, ok?” Murdock lifted his chin a bit, defensive but curious, so he went on. “I know that you don’t want to fly with me. I get it. It’s more practical with someone else. I understand, I promise.”

Only when Murdock nodded (slowly) did Face continue. “But I don’t understand why you won’t fly.”

“Don’t exactly get a lot of chances in the V.A.” Came the automatic answer, fast and practiced from the pilot’s lips.

“You wouldn’t even fly the toy plane, buddy.”

“Was just being nice…”

“It was more than that,” he said, leather squeaking as he gave the pilot a look. He was Faceman, and he was not fooled by that excuse. He’d given it enough times himself to know it wasn’t true. “You wouldn’t touch the controls without me practically begging you.”

Murdock didn’t deny it. The pilot just shifted and looked down at the floor mats, Converse scuffing at the pristine coverings. Face watched him for a long moment before reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened, Murdock? What happened to that spirit?”

There was a long moment of silence, longer than the first few times as if the universe were accentuating the fact that this was all a gamble. A high risk, all or nothing bid to get back the pilot that he wanted, that he needed. To get the thing he wanted - maybe, someday - in return.

Under his hand Face could feel Murdock’s muscles tensing and untensing, an interplay of shifting unease and tense rigidity. The long hands on the dash slid down with the squeak of plastic and pooled into Murdock’s lap, fingers listlessly curled. Head bowed, shoulders hunched, and chest still, the pilot’s eyes were far away for a good long while. And through it all Face found himself waiting calmly, mind as still as the man he was watching, breath held and hand loose as he waited for words to make or break the tension still lingering.

He almost missed the words over the drone of a twin engine.

“I lied to you, Faceman.”

It wasn't exactly the confession he had thought he'd be hearing. "What?"

Murdock licked his lips, eyes focusing now on his hands. "I lied when I said I don't want to fly with you. I do."

Face blinked a few times, thought about asking why, but instead went with a simple, "Ok." Which was apparently the right thing to do.

"It's just...I don't want this to happen to you." Murdock lifted a hand, curling his fingers slowly. "We don't need one more liability on the team."

Now he had to interrupt. "Murdock, don't-"

"Don't deny it, Face!" The sudden thump of Murdock's fist on the dashboard caused him to jump and he fell silent. "Just, don't, ok? Don't even say I'm not cause I am, Face. Can barely hold coffee some days, much less shoot a gun. And if I can't even do that, how do you think I'm going to handle flight controls? So just...don't, ok?"

The pilot wasn't angry, not exactly. Resolute was perhaps a better word. As if the man had thought about this a lot and reached the only logical (and wrong, Face said to himself) conclusion.

"Murdock..." He tried again, slowly, calmly. "I'm not asking you to fly a mission."

"But you're asking me to fly."  
Which he was, he knew that. But they were getting off topic because the real question hadn't been answered. "I'm asking you to do something you love." Then a thought hit him and he asked, "You...do still love it, right?"

“Of course I do,” Murdock hissed and at least the man hadn’t hesitated, Face told himself.

“Then why are you hesitating?”

That had Murdock falling silent and Face wondered if perhaps that was his new ability – silencing Murdock. It was a bit worrying, as it wasn’t an ability Face necessarily wanted. At least not in this capacity. But had it he did and now all he could do was try not to shift as Murdock’s frown deepened.

“I’m not hesitating.”

He sighed. Stubborn, in denial fool. “So you haven’t been with us on a training run because…?”

“I told you, I can’t hold a gun.”

“We weren’t asking you too. You can still drive, fly, you could come out with us and just sit by the lake when we do training if that’s how you feel.”

Murdock gave a short little, unhappy laugh. “So I can, what, Face, have dinner all done up by the time you all come in from the range? Maybe be there on the porch with a pitcher of fresh made lemonade. I'll need a new apron though if I'm going to have the house clean by the time-"

"I get it, I get it." He hadn't really thought of the offer in that way, but apparently there was more to the bitterness than just losing hand function, and he would have to respect that. Tease it out, reassure it down eventually, but one thing at a time. "I'm just saying that this..." He gestured vaguely to Murdock's still curled fingers. "Doesn't mean the end of anything."

The pilot gave him a look and said, dryly, "Technically, I think a few nerve endings disagree with you."

Now the man was getting cynical and it was making Face frustrated. He had to count to three as he took a deep breath before he could go on. "Nothing's changed because of this, Murdock." He added, quickly, "Nothing about how we view you. No, I mean it. Just listen, ok?"

After a moment Murdock stopped squirming and gave a consenting nod, head turned and eyes focused out on the distant landing strip. Running a hand through his hair and cranking the air up one more, Face bought himself a minute to organize his thoughts and find a way to say everything without having to voice the harder things.

"You're a good pilot Murdock. Not were, are." He gave a pointed look as the pilot tried to inject, succeeding when Murdock's jaw snapped shut. "Nothing has happened for us to think less of you. So you might not be able to hold a gun, who cares?"

"Hannibal-"

"Just wants you to get comfortable with yourself." Murdock sighed and he took that as a sign to press on. "If that means you never come with us on a mission again, fine. But it's not like we're just using you for missions, buddy."

Laying a careful hand back on Murdock's shoulder, Face waited a few long seconds for those brown eyes to lock on his before he said, slowly, carefully, deliberately, "You're our friend, Murdock. Before team mate, you're that, ok?"

There really wasn't much more to say than that, not without things getting weirder than they already. He was still as Murdock scrutinized him, looking him up and down, and he had to swallow away the fear that maybe he'd said something else this time to set the man off.

Finally, Murdock gave a little sigh and slumped back into the seat, tension suddenly gone. “What do you want me to do, Face?”

“I want you to fly,” he said, letting his hand find its way back up to Murdock’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I want you to get that fighting spirit back, buddy.”

He wished Hannibal were here. For all of the Colonel’s brusque nature, the man knew how to give an inspirational speech and make it sound a lot more convincing than Face could. More than he wanted Murdock to suddenly confess undying love, more than he wanted the man in his bed, even more than he wanted Murdock’s mobility back (well, ok, maybe not that, but still), he wanted Murdock to get back to that effervescent confidence the man was known for. To get that spirit back that made the man look up in wonder, not anxiety, when a plane cruised by over head.

"How do you want me to do that exactly, Face?" Those brown eyes were watching him with a world-weary new line to that face, and Face realized what was happening before he opened his mouth and cemented that defeat into the pilot's voice.

"No, no Murdock, there's nothing I want you to do." Murdock gave him a look and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Ok, I want you to do it because you want to do it. Not because I asked you. Or, well, I want you to look into it because I asked, but that doesn't obligate you into suddenly picking up everything you left and starting from there."

Murdock snorted and he felt himself redden a bit at the flustered pitch. Swallowing and adjusting the air for the millionth time, Face gave a bit of a frustrated huff. This wasn't really going well.

"Look, Murdock, I just want you to be happy..." This was also getting stupid, and Face could feel his face reddening, again. "Flying used to do that. If it doesn't anymore, fine, I'll back off. But you won't know until you try, and hell, bud, do you really not want to at least do that? Are you that scared?"

It had slipped out before he could stop himself. Murdock picked up on it immediately and turned, a growing look of anger clouding his face. "I ain't scared, Faceman."

But he had had enough of this. It was one thing to be stubborn, another to be pig-headed, and this had crossed the line about five minutes ago. "Then what is it? Because you've never had issues like this before, not even in 'Nam, and now you won't even get in a plane you're not even flying!"

A long hard look met Murdock's, and to Face's great relief it was Murdock who backed down. Brown eyes flashed something akin to guilt and the pilot looked down and away like a chastised child. Face's first instinct was to apologize to that hurt expression. But he reigned himself in. This was it, and he wasn't going to apologize for concern. Murdock would have to deal with it.

Finally, after two Cessnas did a touch and go, Murdock's nose twitched. "What did you mean, a plane I'm not flying?"

He sighed, glancing at his watch. "I know a stunt pilot out here. I managed to get him to agree to take an old Army friend of mine up for a ride. Said it would help him out..." Face took a breath in and let it out. "You don't have to if you don't want to. He'll understand."

At silence, Face felt himself blurting out more words, just to fill that uncomfortable space. "You don't have to even touch the controls. You just have to sit there, appreciate it, hold on when he does the barrel rolls, and..." He threw his hands up, letting his back hit the seat heavily. "I don't know, Murdock, just...be in 'awe' of it I guess."

This was a bad idea. A horrible, no good, very bad idea. He had thought that he'd be the hero, bringing the man out there. That the no obligation flying would be just the thing to kickstart that desire. But so far all he had managed was to make the man upset.

Maybe he had moved to fast, tried to hard.

No, he had definitely moved too fast. All Face could do was watch as Murdock fidgeted, looking from his hands to the flight field then, discreetly, to Face, then back to his hands to start the cycle all over again. There were so many more things Face wanted to say: how the pilot was the bravest man he knew, how Murdock could do this if he just tried, how-

"Why, Faceman?"

It took him a moment to realize Murdock had been speaking to him. "Why what?"

"This, all this." Murdock gestured to the distant runway.

At least he had an easy way to answer that. "Because I want you happy, buddy. I miss Howling Mad Murdock."

Murdock gave him a long look. "Buddy?"

He froze for a moment. He'd always called Murdock that, had been doing so for awhile, so why call him out on it now? "Well, yeah, you're my friend..."

"Oh." And it was the same kind of 'oh' that he'd said last week on the pier.  
Face had to fight to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest and ruining the leather seats with blood. "I mean, you're my friend, but, well, I..." There was no good way to say it. Suddenly it was hot, and tugging on his collar wasn't helping. "Is it hot? I really need to get this in for my mechanic to take a look at the air conditioner..."

He adjusted the vents, again, and hoped that Murdock would stop staring at him with that calm, calculating look. They'd already established this, right? Not like the earlier arguing would help him get anywhere.

Murdock, fortunately, didn't say anything. Just shook his head and curled his fingers again. Face, glancing at his watch once more, put his hand on the door handle, preparing to end this early, get lunch, calm down, and take Murdock back. "Let me just go tell Parker maybe another day..."

"Face, wait."

His hand froze even as his head turned. Murdock had one hand slightly outstretched, as if to stop him. There was a torn look in the man's eyes, conflicted. He waited as Murdock let his hand drop.

"I wanna go."

"Are you sure?" After all this fuss, he wasn't going to push the man anymore. "I don't want you to go just for me."

Murdock just shook his head, however, tugging on the rim of his baseball cap. "No, I want to go. You went to all this trouble-"

"It really wasn't any-"

"And you seem so keen-"

"But I want you to want-"

"And sometimes you just need a kick in the pants from someone you care about to show you that you're bein' an idiot."

That had Face spluttering a bit, Murdock looking on with a hint of a smile this time. The sound of engines and air conditioning took over again, but it didn't matter because all he could hear was the fact that the word 'friend' had not been used. Someone you care about. That could mean...right?

Evidently so, as Murdock put a hand out and carefully squeezed Face's shoulder. A tentative smile spread across the Southerner's face, and slowly Face felt the shock slip away and start to be replaced with a smile of his own. Despite the angry words, despite the pushing, despite the nagging, the pleading, the (at times) selfish shoving toward a particular goal, there was that something in there that he'd first seen that day in the hospital. The same something that was driving him to go out of his way, using his time, using his resources in an exhaustively extensive way for someone else. He liked to think that it was the same something that had eroded that iron will as well, that was the cause for this sudden 'yes' that the pilot was giving him now.

He had more theories and ideas that he wanted to test, but before he could open his mouth to ask, a knock on the window caught his attention. They both pulled away quickly as a sandy-haired, blue-eyed man looked in. “Richard? Sorry, saw your car and, well, I’m all set and ready…”

All Face could do was blink as Murdock laughed at his flustered expression. “Right, right, sorry about that. Parker, this is Murdock. Murdock, this is Dylan Parker…”

It took Murdock longer than normal to get out of the car, nervousness rolling off the man in the way he shifted from foot to foot. “Nice to meet ya…” And while the greeting was less enthusiastic than Face had wanted, to Parker’s credit he didn’t flinch when he shook hands with the Southerner.

He watched as they walked off, disappearing through the gate and onto the hangar floor, where the beautiful blue and white-checkered bi-plane had been ready for the past thirty minutes. Even from this distance he could see Murdock’s hands find his pockets, twitching already in unsaid anxiety. But as the two pilots approached, he swore he could see Murdock’s head lift just a bit and that gait falter just a bit at the sight of that magnificent air craft, primed and ready.

It was going to be a long road still. He had no doubt about it as he watched Murdock take the headset offered, fingers stroking the hard plastic as Parker went on with an (undoubtedly unnecessary) safety briefing. But the fact that Murdock was getting into the passenger side himself, feet steady, and headset already on, well…

Face liked to think things were finally starting to speed up again.

And all he could do was smile.

Smile, because it really was an awesome sight to see that plane looping and spinning and flying in ways that no kite, no motorized toy, and barely even some imaginations could. Perhaps not quite what Lindbergh would have thought back in his day, but Face had to admit, that, that was definitely the flying that he associated Murdock with, for better or for worse. He was still smiling when, a half-hour and several wishes for nausea-reducing medicine (and he wasn’t even in the air) later, the plane touched down and Murdock bounded over the tarmac, Converse thudding in rhythmic two-time until the pilot was throwing his long arms around Face, kissing him soundly even as the dust kicked up by his enthusiasm began to settle once more.

After a good few seconds of shock – and the realization that, yes, the man was kissing him in a uncomfortably public place – Face squirmed and pushed Murdock away, face reddening by the second. It didn’t deter Murdock from wrapping himself around Face into a tight hug, burying his face into Face’s neck.

“I take it he enjoyed it,” came a chuckle and Face didn’t really know if he could be more embarrassed as Parker folded his arms, leaning against the gate.

“Yeah, he gets excited…” was all Face could think to say, even as he realized that fast heart beat wasn’t just his own he was feeling. He patted Murdock’s shoulder, prying the man away with not a little bit of regret, addressing the pilot now. “I take it you had fun?”

All he really needed was that bright smile on Murdock’s face for an answer. Naturally, he got a lot more. “Fun? Fun?? That wasn’t fun, Faceman, fun is too tame a word for such an experience. Marvelous, astounding, extraordinary, miraculous! It was a religious experience, Face, a testament to the gods themselves of the incomprehensible ability of the human spirit to prevail and overcome such a persuasive a thing as gravity!”

Parker snorted and gave Face a look, pushing off from the fence. “We’re all settled.”

“Thanks,” he nodded back, putting a hand on Murdock’s shoulder to guide the man to the car. “I owe you one.”

“A true affirmation of the ability of man and machine to rise in unifying harmony amongst nature’s most vast and noblest of limits-”

The sandy-haired man just smiled. “It’s fine. Just glad to see your friend had fun.”

And with that Parker turned and strode back to the waiting plane as Face opened the door for Murdock. The pilot was still going by the time he got in the car himself. All Face could do was chuckle as he fished for his keys, more than content to let the man talk. Especially when it was a litany of words said in that manic tone that always heralded a new obsession. Or in this case, an old one.

“Face, it was awesome,” Murdock finally wore himself out, slumping back into the seat with a distant, lopsided smile.

“Good,” said Face, putting the keys in the engine and smiling down at the steering wheel, congratulating himself on a job well done even if a part of him wished that kiss had been born from something more than manic joy. At least his mind would carry that brief moment with him forever, marred by an unparallel display of uncomfortable public affection, but that was Murdock.

“Face.” The insistent tone had him looking up, a brief spike of panic running through him.

Brown eyes flashing was all the warning he got as the pilot suddenly closed the distance and shut himself up with Face’s generous help in the form of a strong kiss.

This time, the shock had him pushing back immediately, bewildered. Last time it had just been excitement, not something to read into because this was Murdock, and Murdock was crazy. But words had failed Murdock again. And as he surveyed the man in front of him, suddenly the wary one, he found not hunched shoulders and distance but flushed cheeks and bright, shining brown eyes that were more focused than could be deemed possible for someone whose home address was the V.A. Psych Ward.

If there was a look of pure joy, Murdock had it. And in a blink of his eyes and a flash of epiphany, Face realized that that look of joy? He had put it there. He had been the one to bring back that passion to those expressive eyes. All him. Egotistical to think so? Perhaps. But there was his own version of joy growing inside at the idea that his efforts had been responsible for those liquid browns displaying crystal clear depths.

In a way, too, he was awed that he had this much power over the man.

How long had he had it?

"M-Murdock..." Face stammered out, uncertainty rising and the Vette suddenly a million degrees warmer than it should be.

The pilot just watched him, a smile growing. "So you do?"

"Do wh-what?"

"You know."

And he did. There was a long silence as he realized that thirty seconds had gone by and more had been asked than any direct question could accomplish. He simply stared, because leave it to Murdock to ask something so big in the most bizarre and unexpected way. Even for this subject matter.

Murdock was insane. Pure and simple. Then again, no sane man would be leaning back in, a hand cupping Face’s neck to gently coax him forward into a more tentative, more restrained kiss this time.

Stubble scraped skin, he could feel Murdock's heart in his chest, and though part of him gaffed at the fact that he hadn’t initiated this, that was ok. Because he was a little bit crazy too, come to think of it. Particularly as he leaned in unbidden, eyes sliding shut and his own hand finding the back of the pilot’s long neck. Time never really did speed up like he thought it would. But that was ok. 

Because, for a moment, he felt like he was flying at the feeling of it all.

And really, he thought as Murdock shifted the angle, wasn’t that the spirit of all of this anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have nerve damage myself so I can't even begin to describe the emotion behind it with any kind of realistic basis. I've done my best to portray what I need here, and understand that it may not be 100% accurate.
> 
> Done for the [ateam_prompts](http://ateam-prompts.livejournal.com/) meme.


End file.
